


gods' plan

by onsides



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming Back Different, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Stannis, M/M, Multi, Muteness, Pseudo-Incest, Resurrection, Robb Lives AU, Robb Stark is King in the North
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onsides/pseuds/onsides
Summary: Robb threw his freshly re-awoken body into the stream and laid there, staring upwards, his mind swimming with images of his dead wife, Talisa, and their dead, unborn child within her. He saw his mother, pleading with Walder Frey in that awful, heartbroken voice of hers, and he saw himself, lost, lost, lost. He felt like he could once more hear the screams of his fellow bannermen and soldiers outside, being slaughtered because of his mistakes. What exactly was his purpose now? Was it only revenge? Or was it something else, something more? "You Starks are hard to kill," Jon had said to him once.The resurrection of a lost king crashes upon Westeros in waves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeaaaa boiiii
> 
> i haven’t written fic in 10 years, let’s fuckin go lads. hope you're all as into robb stark and the world worshipping him and saying sorry as i am
> 
> unbetaed we die like men

The total blackness he was submerged in was disappearing. Specks of light began to seep into his field of view. He began shivering as his limbs regained feeling, pricks and numbness consuming them as he began to reach and move his body around. He felt his back ache, and his front too, as he shifted from his position laying flat. His throat cleared as he coughed and he was able to breathe properly, his hand flying to his neck and chest to feel the strange iciness there. The feeling of breathing on his weak throat coupled with the tight ice in his chest caused him to begin to heave, his body rolling over so he could throw up whatever was inside him. As his hazy vision lightened, he saw blood in his bile beneath him. Remaining with his fists holding him up, staring at the ground, he blinked at the memories that started to flood his brain.

The urge to scream became all-consuming and as he slowly moved his body upright to stand, his legs screeching in disuse and leftover aches, he found himself making noise. The sound emitting from him was close to a howl, pained and fractured. He stumbled to the stream a few feet to his side and collapsed again, throwing the water onto his face.

More awake now, Robb began to remember more clearly. He desperately looked around him for anyone and anything but saw nary a bird in his company. His hands flew to his chest where he had been struck with arrows and stabbed and he began to remove his doublet in a frenzy. With his jerkin gone, he looked down at his chest, ripped up and wounded, but not bleeding nor enflamed. The holes looked open as if they had just happened – as he realized that they had – but they had the look of old scars, darkened by their recentness. Tentatively, he touched them and fought the urge to cry out when he realized they were both very real and they did not hurt.

He threw his entire body into the stream then and laid there, staring upwards, his mind filled with images of his dead wife, Talisa, and their dead unborn child within her. He saw his mother, pleading with Walder Frey in that awful, heartbroken voice of hers, and he saw himself, lost, lost, lost. He felt like he could once more hear the screams of his fellow bannermen and soldiers outside, being slaughtered because of his mistakes. The terror of the night overcame him, and he wept, the cool water rushing over his broken body.

After a bit of nursing the events of his own death, he pulled himself up and turned his head to look at the weirwood tree by him. Suddenly, he realized he had no idea where he was. He moved out of the water, crawling to the bank, to put his clothes back on, looking around him wildly for any kind of sign, fear gripping him once more at being found.

As he stood again, dressed in the clothes he died in, he looked down in the stream and felt terror rise in him once again. Bringing his hands to his neck, which had a severe, deep scar around it where he had clearly been beheaded. He stumbled backwards and tripped over the roots of the weirwood, falling over and scrambling until his back was against the trunk of the old tree. Shutting his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to remember what could have happened to him but knowing nonetheless that he was dead when it did, he heard a rustle to his right. His eyes flew open and he dropped his hands from his neck, moving to hide behind the tree. He shut his eyes again, trying to sort out his emotions and determine what to do, when he heard a gentle huff to his right.

Turning to the stream, Robb felt his heart soar when he realized it was his lost direwolf. Bolting in his direction, he and Grey Wind collided and rolled in the earth together, neither of them paying the tree’s roots digging in any mind. Robb went to speak but found his voice hoarse and unusable. Grey Wind didn’t pay it any mind and licked his neck thoroughly, as if he could heal Robb’s wound himself. It was then that he noticed Grey Wind had a similar scar around his neck, causing his fur to grow oddly and become very patchy at the neck. Swallowing back bile at what may have occurred, Robb put his head against Grey Wind’s and breathed.

The two stayed like that for a while, cuddled against one another. It grew dark before Robb finally awoke from his slumber, forcing him to process everything once more. He slowly sat up, Grey Wind stirring beside him, and eyed the stars above him. He breathed deeply, marveling in it like he never had in his past life – _his past life,_ he thought wildly – before he turned back to the weirwood tree’s face once more.

Desperately, he looked into the bloody eyes of the tree and wondered what this was. _Why would you bring me back? Why me?_ Distantly, he thought about his lost father, mother, and wife, and even his unborn child. _Any of them would have been more valuable to the world_ , he thought listlessly, looking at his wolf. His noble father, brave and strong, even in the face of the mightiest peril. His bold mother, wise and reliable, caring for her children even if they were already lost. His sweet wife, good-hearted and stubborn, his favorite person in the world and his biggest mistake in the world.

Tiredly, he gripped his own throat once more and felt dazed as he rested his head back down on Grey Wind. Hours passed as he tried to reconcile his resurrection in his mind and calm the growing storm of hatred and anger growing in him at the Freys, Boltons, and Lannisters.

As he stewed, he noticed he was being watched. Standing up on shaky legs that grew stronger as the night went on, he looked around him with surprisingly sharp eyes at the treeline. He heard a noise to his right and turned in time to see a bow and arrow pointed his way, the rest of the men emerging from the shadows.

Robb desperately went through lords and sigils in his mind, trying to place the lizard-esque black sigil on a green flag. His mind whispered _Howland Reed_ at him and, as if summoned, the man himself emerged from the trees, his face as friendly as his father always described it.

Reed approached slowly, his hand reaching out to put a bow and arrow down, the rest of them dropping as well. All the soldiers watched him warily as he approached Robb and Grey Wind, the wolf standing up to watch Reed closely. The lord stopped a few paces away from Robb and looked at him closely.

In a gruff voice laced with humor, Reed said, “Well, you certainly look like you died.”

Once more, Robb tried to speak, but found only hoarse noises came from his throat. His hands flew to his neck once more, rubbing at the scarred wound there. A growing sense of panic overcame him then, causing him to stumble. _What use is it to come back to life if I can’t talk?_

As he became frenzied, Reed approached him and gently put his hands on Robb’s arms, his hands still wrapped around his own throat. Hushing him gently, Reed said quietly, “Don’t worry. It may come back or it may not, it means naught to me. It matters that you are alive.”

Looking at him incredulously, Robb went to argue but he was silenced. At this, Reed guffawed, his big grey beard moving with the action. He jested that the best king is one that could not talk and his men finally loosened themselves up, chuckling with him. Robb stared at him, boggled by the idea that he would still be king after his mistakes, his pitfalls, his losses.

Noticing his confusion, Reed gently put a hand on his cheek. “You are our king, from this day until your last day. Your _true_ last day,” he added, chuckling to himself.

He urged Robb then with a hand on his back toward his men and toward a waiting horse. With help, Robb climbed atop the horse and shrugged off the cloak they tried to put on him. A soldier murmured to him, “It is cold, Your Grace,” but Reed silenced him.

Robb strained his ears to hear Reed tell him, “The undead don’t feel cold like we do.”

The words grew cold in him, falling like a stone in his stomach. _I am undead,_ Robb said, looking at his own exposed hand, turned slightly grey with death. Consciously breathing and feeling his own pulse, he took the reins of the horse and began to walk with the men through what he realized were the crannogs.

As they approached Greywater Watch, Robb got a clear look at the river he must have floated through to get there from the Twins. The water ran clear and soft, as if it hadn't carried his dead body miles and miles north. Eyeing the river more closely, however, as he walked by on his horse, he noticed the river ran downstream, meaning his body had to travel against the current to reach them. Looking around him in faint surprise at the crannogmen and their swamplands, which don't have much movement to them regardless, he understood the gods more and himself even less.

* * *

In the silence of his room, graciously given to him by Howland, Robb was able to stop and think about his situation. He stripped himself after locking his door so he could look at himself more closely. He peered into the mirror built into the wall and, with shaky breaths, took in what he saw. His skin had a grey tinge to it and his hair, once full of life, seemed darker. His face was gaunt and sallow, his bones seemingly growing more apparent in the seconds that passed. 

The men of the crannogs considered him a god. He was undead, brought back by the gods to do their bidding. He was eligible to be worshipped. Sadly, Robb thought about his wife and child.

He slowly moved toward the tub of water set out for him, climbing into the warm water and leaning back. Robb specifically said no guards and no squires or attendants were needed and he would turn them away if Howland tried. The man heeded him, it seemed. As he set about washing his own hair, his mind wandered to where his sisters would be now.

Since he, as far as the Seven Kingdoms were concerned, was dead, he could only imagine what came of sweet Sansa and fierce Arya. It shook him to his core to think of any harm coming to them, his whole body filled with regret at neglecting to retrieve them before. He was filled with vicious anger then, his whole body becoming engulfed in firey rage as he gripped the sides of the tub. Distantly, he heard Grey Wind whining and the tub cracking under his hands.

As quickly as it came, however, he calmed. Resuming his steady cleanse of his hair and body, he wondered then about his brothers Bran and Rickon, lost in the North somewhere. He did not believe they were dead. No matter how cruel Theon had grown, he still did not believe he would kill Bran and Rickon. His mind found a lost memory of Theon killing a wildling with no hesitation, even though it was moments after Robb had scorned him.

He felt sick with betrayal, thinking about his once-brother Theon. Once again, he felt rage curdle in his gut, making his vision waver momentarily.

Forcing himself to calm, noting the dents in the tub, he wondered finally about Jon. In his quietest moments, Robb thinks he might miss Jon the most. The last time he saw Jon, they were both boys, with no hair on their chests and no blood on their blades. Now, Robb was war-weary and an old, defeated king. He could only wonder what Jon had been doing in the last few years. Perhaps he was a ranger like Benjen, wandering out beyond the Wall on the lookout wildlings and creatures of the night. Or perhaps he stayed at the Wall, doing Gods-know-what. Robb had a hard time imagining Jon sitting still though.

He fondly recalled some distant memories of the two of them, and Theon, running around Wintertown and harassing the poor townsfolk, who shook their heads but smiled nonetheless. He smiled faintly as he remembered sword-fighting with Jon in the yard, their wood swords clacking against one another as they fought, evenly matched. He shut his eyes and let himself be back there, watching Jon’s black curls bounce around as the limber fighter moved to avoid Robb’s swings. Jon didn’t often smile but when he did, Robb remembered, it made just about everyone stumble. If Robb listened closely enough, he could almost hear the faint sounds of Jon’s soft laughter echoing through the air at Winterfell, like music to Robb’s ears.

The moment was fractured when Robb heard a knock at his door. Opening his eyes in a flash of irritation, he slapped the water to let whoever it was know he was in the bath. He slowly rose out of the water, trying not to wince at how dirty and bloody it was, and stepped out, dressing in the clothes generously left for him by the Reed residence. Dressing quickly in a simple undershirt and wool breeches, he moved to the door and allowed Howland Reed inside.

The two walked to the desk in the room and sat down, Robb gesturing for him to talk. He was still voiceless. 

Howland began, “I hope this room is to your liking. I imagine just about anything would be.” At Robb’s nod, he nodded as well and sat back in his chair, observing the room. “I put your father in here when he visited.”

It hung in the air as Howland watched the room, his mind clearly lost in hazy, long-past memories. In a soft, choked voice, Howland continued, “I miss him. I do.” He turned back to Robb then and looked at him more closely. “You don’t look too much like him. You must take after your mother. Lovely woman she was. Strong, brave, she had a backbone that rivaled only her husband’s. It breaks my heart, what happened, mostly for the fact that the world itself has lost Catelyn Stark, the fierce woman she was.”

The sentiment stung Robb, the hot tears rising to his eyes as he tried desperately not to remember her face as he took the arrows. He should never have trusted the Freys. He should have listened to his mother, and Talisa, and spared his bannermen, and left the Riverlands when he had the chance. The regret burned hot inside of him, threatening to spill over in another fit of rage.

As if he sensed the storm brewing in Robb, Howland reached out and put a hand on Robb’s. His hands were calloused but soft and strong. He looked at Howland with a furrowed brow and the man sighed, looking all of his years. Robb swallowed as he recognized the expression from his own father’s face, briefly overcome with how much he missed Ned.

Howland spoke softly then. “They say… that when a man returns from the dead, as you are not the first, that he comes back different. His baser instincts become more beastlike and his thoughts become consumed with one thing or another. Whatever negative traits, if you will, that you had in your previous life, well… they’ll only be heightened now.”

The thought terrified Robb. In his previous, he could be proud, and rash, and impulsive. He fell in love with the wrong woman and he was too stubborn to listen to those who knew best. He had a temper that flared up when the Starks were disrespected. A voice in his mind whispered to him that there is no greater disrespect than the violation of guest-right and the slaughter of a king by a bannerman. Hot, vicious fury rose in his throat and threatened to choke him. He noticed his fist shaking and vision blur but tried desperately not to prove Howland right.

Regardless of this, he knew he had. That made him angry too, he realized, and he stood up to approach the window and open it. He knew it was futile, that he did not quite feel temperature the way he once did, but the breeze was refreshing nonetheless. When he turned back, Howland had poured him some wine. He drank some down and went to speak again.

Nothing came out. Howland shrugged vaguely and grabbed some paper from a drawer and a quill. He held it out to Robb who hesitated but then grabbed it, writing on it, _Where are Bolton and Frey now?_

“Tywin Lannister made Bolton Warden. He’s at the Dreadfort. Frey is still at the Twins.”

_Bolton said “the Lannisters send their regards” before he stabbed me. What does that mean?_

Howland chuckled darkly then and said, “I assume it means they were paid handsomely by Tywin to do the deed. He took his defeats quite personally.”

_I meant for them to be personal._

Howland looked at him then with a pause. “Vengeance is no answer, Your Grace.”

Robb stared at him and swallowed down the urge to rashly strike at him. His calm demeanor was so at odds with the fury boiling inside Robb, a vicious, sick anger that Robb wished he could dissipate. Slowly, he brought his quill back to paper.

_It is to me._

* * *

Robb spent most of the first moon at Greywater Watch fielding questions and learning to communicate without his voice. The crannogmen learned long ago a tactic for silent communication, the pressure to be quiet on hunts in the swamps forcing their hand. With hand gestures, Robb began to be able to talk, albeit stilted and broken, to the fellow Northerners.

They still saw him as a god. He tried not to let it bother him but every day that he grew sicker with fury and sorrow both, the less he found himself worthy of following. Visiting the weirwood and the site of his resurrection calmed him some, but he was often disturbed.

He had been, as always, wondering what his purpose was now. _If not vengeance, as Howland was intent on disallowing, what? Am I not meant to be king after all? Am I not meant to continue this war against those who willed me dead?_ He was growing restless, especially when news arrived at the Watch about a wedding in the capital between Joffrey and Margaery being interrupted by Joffrey’s death.

The letter said Tyrion Lannister was imprisoned upon suspicion but there was no mention of his wife. Reaching for the letter and being handed it immediately, Robb scanned his eyes over it in a panic. There was no mention of Sansa Stark, not even by _not_ mentioning her. He calmly put the letter down and looked meaningfully at Howland, who looked grim.

The man said then, “What news of Sansa Stark? Anything?”

Oro Blackmyre, the lord who retrieved the letter, shook his head. “The messenger said nothing. He has not yet left if you’d like me to inquire.”

Howland nodded and Oro left in haste. Robb nodded at Howland in thanks. The room was quiet while they all pondered what the king’s death meant, what Tyrion Lannister’s imprisonment meant, and what came of Sansa Stark. Robb wondered wildly at the idea of Sansa actually being responsible for Joffrey’s death before he dismissed it. Even with the abuse they must be doling out to her, especially her marriage to the imp, she would still never murder the king. _She’s smarter than that_ , Robb thought.

Oro entered the room again looking grim and defeated. He looked at Robb and said, “No news, Your Grace. None at all.”

Furrowing his brow, Robb looked at Howland. Their expressions matched and Howland voiced what Robb was thinking. “She must have escaped. She most certainly would have been imprisoned on suspicion if she were there.”

A nugget of hope blossomed in Robb’s chest. The fury that burned hot felt cooled for a moment at the prospect of Sansa escaping the clutches of the South. He wondered then where she would go and hoped her traveling companion, as he knew she was not alone, was good to her.

Robb excused himself silently and made his quiet way out of the room, trying not to heed the attention of everyone at his gaunt, quiet form. As he made his way back to his room, his mind racing at the possibilities of where Sansa and Arya both were, he thought of Jon again.

He thought he might write a letter. Howland advised against it, that it would alarm the kingdoms as Jon would most likely not believe it was him. Robb knew it to be true, but he wanted to see Jon again anyway. Sansa and Arya were too young to understand him, even now, and Bran and Rickon were as naïve as he once was, unable to understand either.

Eyeing a travel pack provided for him by Howland for the purposes of hunt and petting Grey Wind, who napped more now than he ever did, Robb began planning a trip back north. Further north this time, however, much further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have quite a few chapters already written but i'm going to pace myself in posting them. the urge to throw them all out there and run is strong but i am stronger
> 
> i'm going to be changing quite a few things about canon to suit this story. my ultimate desire it to have every person in westeros begging at robb's feet for forgiveness and giving him everything he desires, as he deserves, so we're going to figure out the best way for that to plausibly work together
> 
> a lot of jon snow-things will be happening again but in different ways and a maybe different order. stay tuned, lads


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king returns to the north once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one’s for u, tolkien and skyrim fans. hope u like long walks and horses named shadowmere

When Robb broke the news of his future travels north to Howland in broken hand-language, Howland seemed expectant and fond, if a little sad. The man placed his hands around Robb’s which were still trying to shape “I’m sorry” and nodded at him.

His smile then reminded Robb of his father again, the loss of Ned still cutting Robb as deep as the day it happened. Howland said softly, “You belong in the North. You have to find your family now, while you are still under the cover of death. Move with the shadows, Your Grace. We will rally when you come back out into the light.”

The weight of it hung heavy on his shoulders then. In staggered movements, Robb gestured, _And if I don’t?_

Howland smiled again and held his hands up in a loose gesture. “So be it. You will always be my king regardless.”

Robb kept his words tucked close to him as he set off on his horse north. He waved behind him once more. The horse he was on, named Shadowmere, was the only one of the crannogs who didn’t fear Grey Wind. The two got along well, which Robb was grateful for as they walked side by side.

As he left Greywater Watch behind him, he wondered whether it would be wise to stop in Moat Cailin. Ultimately, as he approached it, he decided not, as Bolton was Warden of the North now and they would need to be loyal to stay alive. Robb, despite his fury, did not begrudge the Northerners their own salvation. It would do him no good to get an innkeeper killed from a misguided sense of loyalty.

Angling Shadowmere in a route through the woods to avoid the main roads, Robb wondered where it was exactly that he was headed. He knew distantly that the Wall was his destination. He wondered at himself what it was he thought he’d find there, aside from Jon. Perhaps that is enough, Robb thought to himself, taking a break by a stream branched off of the White Knife river. He watched Grey Wind prance in the water and catch fish and thought of Ghost, Jon’s wolf. He knew Lady perished and he presumed Nymeria was lost in the woods of Westeros. Summer and Shaggydog were probably with Bran and Rickon, hopefully. Ghost, however, was more loyal than any of the wolves except Robb’s. He wondered if Grey Wind was excited to see his brother again.

Early the next morning, Robb made the decision to sail to the Wall rather than cut through the woods. The likelihood of him running into Bolton’s men or random bandits was high, especially since the Starks were no longer the ones punishing or discouraging theft and violence. Even if they didn’t recognize him as King Robb, he knew he could not speak to defend himself which left him at a great disadvantage.

He made his way across the White Knife river carefully, pulling his horse and wolf through the shallower parts of it, and they continued on until they reached the Broken Branch river. He remembered from his lessons as a child that Ramsgate was mostly inhabited, only occupied by fishermen and pirates. The insignificant man in charge owed his allegiance to the Manderlys. As Robb approached the village, he kept his hood up. While it was certainly dishonorable, Robb waited until the cover of night to poach a rowboat from the shore.

He turned then to Grey Wind and Shadowmere. Communicating as best he could that he was headed to the Wall, Robb ushered the two beasts on. Grey Wind and he exchanged a nuzzle as goodbye, which hurt Robb deeply, knowing this might be another great mistake. There was simply no room in the boat for them and they all 3 stood a better chance this way. He fed Shadowmere another bit of wheat and then watched them take off north. He hoped the bond between him and his wolf was as strong as the legends said.

Climbing into the boat, Robb began to row. He didn’t make it very far, his weakened body growing tired. He pulled into a dock a few days out from where he took off and took note of a sign that suggested he was at the Last River, rather than the Weeping Water he was afraid of. The Weeping Water led straight into the Dreadfort. Getting out and picking up his things to begin walking once more, he missed his wolf and horse dearly. While the two served well for traveling and food, he missed the companionship more than anything.

As he followed the Last River closely north, his mind wandered back to the final events of his last days. He wondered over and over where, precisely, he went so wrong. He knew logically it was a mixture of a hundred things, but it didn’t hurt any less to admit it. As night fell once again, Robb tucked into a hollowed tree and willed himself to sleep, dreamless as always now.

This time, however, Robb found himself looking through the eyes of a beast. He looked to his right and saw Shadowmere and realized he was warging into his direwolf. He took a drink of the cold water at his feet and understood that Grey Wind suffered from the same issues he did. Looking around, Robb-as-Grey-Wind processed his location as near Last Hearth. Robb felt their connection slipping and he tried to tell Grey Wind to stay put and that Robb will come for them.

When he awoke, it was daylight once more. Stepping out, Robb shook off his sleep and his warg into Grey Wind and took off once again, reinvigorated. He broke the treeline past the Lonely Hills and outside Last Hearth and, after bolting in the direction he saw his wolf and horse, reunited with them.

He took a few days to rest in the trees. His stamina was simultaneously stronger and weaker than it once was. While Robb knew logically that no man could travel the way he is now with as little food and water as he has consumed. He has only eaten a handful of times and even then, he might as well have skipped it. He rowed for much longer than any man should, and he can sleep in almost any position. However, he grew tired nonetheless, often suddenly overcome with just how tired he is.

As he rested, he pondered the time left until he reached Castle Black. He burrowed into Grey Wind and wondered again where his siblings were. It would have been over a moon since he left Greywater Watch and a lot can happen in a month. He hoped when he reached the Wall that they would have news regarding the events of the realm, in particular his siblings.

When he awoke again, night had fallen. Opting to move in darkness rather than wait, Robb bundled up his things and got on Shadowmere, relieved to be riding his horse again. As the three of them followed the road through the New Gift, avoiding Queenscrown, Robb marveled at the singular focus and obsession he had developed at getting back to Jon. He wanted, more than anything, to feel Jon in his arms again, to see him in black as he promised all those years ago. He wanted to be the one to tell Jon he was still alive.

The thought was crushed slightly when Robb remembered his voiceless affliction. _Nonetheless,_ Robb thought, _I hope Jon will be as happy to see me as I, him._ Grey Wind seemed to pick up on Robb’s surprisingly high spirits as they entered into Brandon’s Gift. The wolf was jumping around more, not quite barking or howling as he was almost as voiceless as Robb was, but huffing nonetheless. Robb smiled and he was suddenly reminded of a forgotten memory.

His mind was filled then with images of Talisa laying back on their bed, one hand on her swelled belly and the other in Grey Wind’s fur. The direwolf never particularly cared for Talisa one way or the other but there was no denying how eager Grey Wind was to see her swelled with child. _He knows_ , Robb remembered saying. Talisa had laughed her charming, throaty giggle at that and fondly rubbed Grey Wind’s head as it rested on her bump.

Blinking away the tears that sprung up, he let his gaze focus instead on the approaching Mole’s Town. It did not look like a particularly pleasant place to visit, particularly at night, so Robb made the decision to veer off the road and go as around it as he could. The extra distance made him to finish his journey as the sun was rising.

As he stopped a short distance away from Castle Black, Robb got off Shadowmere to stare in awe at the Wall in front of him. The stories Old Nan told and the tales his father relayed were nothing compared to the real thing. _It’s made with magic_ , Bran had exclaimed as a child. Robb had laughed then, brushing his hair and chuckling the thought away. As Robb stared at the ice structure, towering taller than anything he could have imagined, he knew well that Bran was right.

He slowly approached the gate and looked up, as if he could see the top of the Wall and the guards that were no doubt manned there. As he reached the front gate, he, his direwolf, and his horse ambling down the dirt-and-stone road, he saw a guard appear in the tower. The man had a long beard and even longer face, looking weary.

Robb nodded at him and he was overcome with sudden dread. He could not speak – he did not even consider the fact he would not be able to just walk in and find Jon. He had to explain himself to this guard and he had no means to do so. Just as he was about to try and gesture at him like he had in the swamps, the guard’s eyes fell to Grey Wind. They widened and he disappeared from the window then.

Wary, Robb exchanged a glance with Grey Wind and gripped his sword at his side. There was no guessing what lay on the other side of those doors now. They began to open, and Robb watched as a few guards stood behind them, all of them equal parts threatening and excited. His eyes found the guard who was in the window and the man gestured him forward. As he walked toward the open gate, Grey Wind began to wiggle more. Robb looked down at him and watched as the wolf was clearly torn between staying by Robb’s side and taking off inside. Recognizing a lost cause when he saw one, Robb ushered him on and the direwolf took off into the open gate, parting the men. It was moments later that a howl broke through the yells of the men, who grew panicked at the sight, and Robb heard Grey Wind’s broken, weak howl in return. A smile grew on Robb’s gaunt face, despite his situation, and the men turned back to him.

They parted to let him pass and he did, bringing Shadowmere without holding his rein. His horse was taken by a steward and Robb looked at him meaningfully. The man looked cowed and amazed, taking the horse gently but looking back behind him again and again to check and see if Robb was still there.

He was distracted, however. Robb’s eyes were currently glued to the sight in front of him in the courtyard, as Grey Wind rolled around and nipped at Ghost. The wolf’s white fur was a welcome sight. Ghost noticed him then and got up from Grey Wind to take off and collide with Robb, who took the brunt of it in his knees and stayed standing. He rubbed at Ghost’s big, white head, and marveled at the runt’s size. _Figures you’d be the biggest_ , he thought fondly. _But where is your owner?_

Moments later, a man appeared at the top of the staircase to stare at him. The courtyard grew silent as everyone watched Robb closely, equal parts terrified and awed. The man in question descended the staircase and came to a halt at Robb’s front, being careful of Grey Wind.

“My name is Ser Alliser Thorne, I’m acting Lord Commander here at the Wall. If I’m not mistaken… you are King Robb Stark.”

Robb nodded, feeling Ghost butt at his hand while Grey Wind butted at the other.

Thorne looked expectant. With a sigh, feeling as grim as he’s sure he looked, Robb gestured for a quill and paper. Thorne quickly ushered for someone to retrieve it and they reappeared moments later with it. Robb turned to his wolf to use him as a place to rest the paper. Once he was finished his short paragraph, he handed it to Thorne and gestured for him to read.

With a shaky hand, Thorne took it and read aloud. “I am he. I was murdered at the Twins with my pregnant wife and mother, but the gods saw fit to return me to the land of the living. While my heart beats and my blood runs hot, my ability to speak is taken.”

In an open state of wonder, Thorne looked back at Robb who had removed his wool scarf from his neck to show them the healed-yet-unhealed wound there. Alliser shuddered, as did many others in the yard who saw it, and nodded, rolling the paper up.

“Well, Your Grace. Welcome to Castle Black. And welcome back to us. It wasn’t right what they did down there. You have my condolences.”

Robb nodded solemnly, his gaze moving around the courtyard. Thorne seemed to realize what he was looking for. Stepping from one foot to the other and looking agitated, he said, “If you’re looking for Jon Snow, he’s not here. He went to make nice with Mance Rayder. Chances are he won’t even come back alive.”

Taken aback, Robb let his furrowed brow do the talking. As he looked around the courtyard, he realized how battered it was. There were bloodstains in the dirt still and arrows and holes all around. He stared at Thorne, awaiting an explanation.

Alliser sighed and put his hands together. “We had a battle with the wildlings last night. We barely won. Jon’s little wildling girlfriend died so he buried her out there and now he’s talking to their leader, the King Beyond the Wall Mance Rayder. We won’t last another night.”

It was a lot for Robb to process. Primarily, he tried to swallow down the pit of fury that rose at the idea of Jon having a girlfriend and her getting killed both. The injustice of all of it infuriated Robb. Thorne seemed to pick up on it and chuckled, “Aye, I don’t get it either. Who would want to fuck a wildling?”

As the men of the Watch chuckled at his comment, Robb remained stony-faced. His mind was elsewhere, primarily on how to get Jon back. He would ride out there himself if he had to. The moment was quelled, however, at the sound of a single horn.

Everyone turned to the tunnel that led to what Robb assumed was an outside gate beyond the Wall. The courtyard was then filled with men bearing the Baratheon sigil which boggled Robb. He looked to Thorne who looked equally as confused, the both of them watching as people poured in.

It was then that Robb remembered Stannis Baratheon. _How foolish I am_ , he thought to himself as he moved to be scarcer. He watched as the man himself rode into the courtyard. Stannis dismounted his horse, a big black steed, and looked to Thorne, who seemed confused where Robb had gone.

Robb sunk further into the crowd, putting up his hood once more. He hoped Grey Wind would disappear as well and, as he scanned the courtyard as best he could, realized both he and Ghost had. He watched then as Jon rode in as well, his breath catching in his throat.

Jon looked better than he ever had. His hair was longer, much longer, and more beautiful. The black curls flipped in the wind as he turned his horse to dismount in the crowd. His eyes were still kind, Robb pondered, even if they seemed sad too. His beard was strong but as he desperately looked through the crowd at him more, he wondered distantly who Jon’s mother was. The man was Northern, certainly, but the older Jon got, the less Stark he looked.

Robb felt eyes on him then. He turned his head to the right and saw a woman enter on a white horse. Her eyes were glued to him, filled with terror and awe both. Robb held his head still as he stared at this woman, cloaked in red from her hair to her dress. The woman dismounted but refused to take her eyes off of him. Out of reluctance of being recognized further, Robb disappeared into a hall to the right and listened instead.

Outside, Stannis was announcing who he was to all of Castle Black. He stated that he had taken Mance Rayder prisoner with means of execution for his crimes and that they held another wildling leader hostage. He was willing to help them against the wildlings, which gave the men of the Night’s Watch reason to cheer. Distantly, Robb wondered what his purpose in doing so truly was. No man would gain anything from helping at the Wall, much less a king who sought the Iron Throne.

Robb was in the midst of trying to figure out how to avoid Stannis and that red woman while also getting to Jon when the door opened. Panicked, he moved to hide but the red woman appeared before he had the chance.

The two stood still, eyeing one another and waiting for the other to move. The red woman struck first.

“You are Robb Stark.”

He nodded.

“You died.”

He nodded again, more hesitant this time. Regardless, the woman burst into emotion and moved toward him, grabbing his hands and pulling him close. Robb resisted the urge to strike out and instead moved to grab her hands tightly. He ignored her wince of pain and looked at her meaningfully. Reaching to his side where the parchment he gave Thorne lay, he handed it to her.

She read the words regarding the events of his death and his punishment, as he supposed, from the gods of taking his voice. She stared at him, her eyes glistening. “What did you see?”

He shook his head. He saw nothing. He had nothing he could tell her. She seemed incredibly disappointed suddenly and sat down on the bench, staring at the parchment in her hands. Robb stared at her until she picked her red head up again and looked at him.

“My name is Melisandre. I am a Red Priestess from Asshai. It is an honor to meet you, King Robb. Your victories on the battlefield are unparalleled, even now. But… it is an even greater honor to be in the presence of one returned to the land of the living.”

The words were chilling, hanging in the air for Robb to marvel at in grim silence. They continued to stare at one another, Robb growing increasingly aware of the wounds at his neck and on his chest, his gaunt face, his heavy bones. The moment was broken as the door opened again and Thorne appeared, a rush of relief filling Robb.

He seemed as relieved as Robb did. “What will you do about Stannis?” It was unclear who exactly he was speaking to. Melisandre spoke for the both of them.

“While King Robb lives, he is in direct conflict with Stannis. I’m sure Stannis will try to get Robb to hand over the North."

The two looked at Robb whose face darkened at the thought of handing over the North to anyone ever again. Melisandre nodded knowingly and sighed. “You cannot hide forever.”

“He wants to see his bastard half-brother. Jon,” Thorne clarified, nodding at Robb. The two spoke as if he wasn’t in the room and Robb would have been lying if he said it didn’t irritate him greatly. He fought the urge to pace the room and growl like a wild animal. He wondered where the wolves went.

Reaching for the quill again, Robb held out his hand to Melisandre for the parchment. She hesitantly handed it back over and he flipped it to write something. He handed it back moments later and waited as Melisandre read it.

“I’d kill Stannis before he took my home from me. He can have six kingdoms or none at all. Those are my terms. I died for my land, would he do the same?”

The words hung in the air and Robb knew Melisandre was pondering the violence of it all. Like Howland, he’s sure Melisandre knew the effects of a man returned from the dead. He was sure she was wondering if he was this violent in life or if vengeance only consumed him so in death. Her face certainly seemed intrigued. Thorne looked tired.

“Regardless, I’ll bring you to Jon’s room. He is First Ranger, as much as it pisses me off. Put your hood back up and let’s go.”

Robb moved quietly out the door behind Thorne while Melisandre stayed behind with the parchment, still pondering it. The two moved quickly and silently through the yard and the stairs until they reached a closed door. Thorne knocked and Robb felt his breath catch as he heard Jon’s gruff answer.

Thorne ripped the door open and shoved Robb in. “Sorry, Your Grace. Don’t come out again.” And with that, the door slammed shut again. Robb looked at it, suddenly overcome with fear that Jon would be disgusted with what Robb has become. He was only a gaunt, listless creature of the undead now, consumed by vengeance and violence and fury. His blood ran warm and his heart beat, but what was it worth? He could neither eat nor drink for the pleasure or purpose of it. He hasn’t felt the littlest stirring in his gut for lust or love. His only desire was to draw blood for his family. He fought the overwhelming urge to throw open the door and lay himself at Stannis’s feet.

Jon’s voice arose behind him then, so unbelievably soft yet wildly gruff. “Who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is entirely indulgent. i know i will forget things, details, plot points and entire characters at times, and the characters i do remember might be ooc, but It Is What It Is! hope u enjoy the ride regardless, i just really like robb stark is all
> 
> here is the ultimate (and interactive) got/asoiaf map if you wanted to follow along: http://quartermaester.info
> 
> next chapter thursday or friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kings meet, brothers bond.

Slowly, Robb turned, reaching his pale hands up to drop his hood. He knew he looked uglier than he ever had. While his face still had blood and his eyes were their natural shade, he also knew his cheeks were gaunt, his lips pale, and his eyes sunken in. His hair had lost its shine, most likely never to return.

Regardless of this, Jon recognized him immediately. He stood up from his chair, pushing at his desk in the haste to stand. The two stood still as Robb waited for Jon to tell him to get out, to deem him the undead demon he knew he was and ask Stannis to execute him – or do it himself. _I’m unnatural,_ he thought, _just say so and I’ll go._

Jon did not. He slowly moved around the desk and Robb watched as his face went through a thousand emotions before settling on grief and joy both. Jon ran at him then with his arms open and Robb accepted him, pulling him close in the first truly warm touch he had since he woke again. Jon did his best to lift Robb up, letting him nuzzle into Jon’s neck and breathe deeply. He smelled of sweat and smoke and wood and all the things he once did, too. Robb fought the urge to cry.

The two pulled apart and Jon’s eyes were glazed with his own unshed tears. He was sputtering, looking for words as he held his hands on Robb’s arms and looked him up-and-down, when he seemed to realize Robb had not spoken yet. Jon’s eyes glanced down at his mouth and he furrowed his brow. Sorrowfully removing himself from Jon’s embrace, he moved to Jon’s desk and wrote a note similar to the one earlier. Jon moved to his side, standing against him as if he was unwilling to not touch.

_When the gods brought me back, they took my voice. I’m assuming it is punishment._

“Why would they punish you, Robb? You’ve done no wrong,” Jon said softly, his hand coming up to brush through some of the limp hair by Robb’s ear. It had grown long in the months since he returned.

The idea of Jon’s words possibly being true gnawed at Robb. He had done plenty wrong and not only did he pay the ultimate price, but his mistakes cost his mother and wife their lives too. He wrote that for Jon to read, including his misery concerning his unborn child, and moved away so he would not feel Jon’s kindness. He sat heavily on Jon’s bed, feeling heavy with the silence of the room.

He looked up then as the quietness went on a moment too long and saw Jon staring at him with sorrow and pity on his face. It irked Robb, as pity always irks a king, but comforted him, too. The angle Robb had his head at must have been enough for Jon to spot his neck wound, as Jon moved quickly to reach out and strip Robb of his woolen scarf, staring in horror at his neck. He fell to his knees at Robb’s feet and took his hands, resting his forehead against Robb’s knees.

Quietly, voice thick with tears, Jon said, “I’m so sorry, Robb. My heart breaks for what they did to you, and Catelyn, and Talisa. You were the best of us, and the world failed you.”

It was too much, it was suffocating. Robb did not know what he wanted when he traveled to the Wall, but Jon’s kindness and warmth and love was overwhelming. _It always was_ , he thought distantly, remembering his own private idea that his mother hated Jon so much because of how much he loved the family and was loved in return. He was about to shove Jon away when there was scratching at the door. Robb moved to open it, breaking Jon’s hold on him at his feet, and let the direwolves in. He watched with a faint ghost of a smile as Grey Wind pounced on Jon, who broke into a grin and let him lick his face.

Robb sat once more on the bed as he watched the wolves clamor over Jon. He wondered faintly what Stannis was doing and whether he was expecting Jon for anything. He pulled out another piece of parchment.

_What will we do about Stannis?_

Jon read the words when Robb finally handed it to him and sighed. “First, we burn the dead. Then, we deal with Stannis. He wants the Seven Kingdoms and you want the North.” He hesitated then, staring at Robb from his position on the floor with the wolves. “You do, don’t you?”

The dark look on Robb’s face must have been enough of an answer. Jon slowly nodded and resumed petting the wolves both. “Stannis wants Bolton dead. So do you. Perhaps you’ll be able to bridge that gap.”

Robb furiously ripped the parchment back and scribbled something so violently it ripped the paper. Jon, openly concerned, gingerly took the paper back and read, “No. I will kill Bolton. Stannis can have anything except Bolton, Walder Frey, and Tywin fucking Lannister.”

Nodding slowly and handing it back, Jon moved from the floor to sit next to Robb again, removing his doublet as he did. They sat side by side as Robb fumed, considering the ways he could best enact his vengeance. It would make sense geographically to start with Bolton, but Frey is the one who orchestrated it. He grew distracted as Jon slowly moved to remove Robb’s doublet too, his touch gentle and kind. It burned Robb but he let Jon do it anyway.

He kept his hand clenched into a tight fist the whole time, his other hand clutching the parchment. When Jon reached his undershirt, Robb stopped him. The two stared at one another and Robb stood. He turned back to Jon who was still sat on the bed and moved closer to him. Robb slowly untied the shirt and watched Jon’s face as he revealed to him his wounds.

The agony in Jon was clear, to Robb’s sickening relief. The man’s hands reached out to touch Robb, hesitating before a nod urged him on. His calloused thumb traced the knife-wound from Lord Bolton, his eyes welling up. His hand was shaking, Robb realized. He grabbed Jon’s hand and moved it to lay flat against his chest where his heart is. He watched as Jon closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Robb’s stomach, against Bolton’s mark on Robb’s body, and listened and felt Robb’s heartbeat. The two remained like that for some time, Robb allowing Jon to be reminded Robb is, mostly, alive.

A knock at the door sounded eventually. Jon looked at Robb in a panic then, pulling his head back, and Robb moved to a corner where he would not be spotted so easily. Grey Wind followed.

Jon moved to the door then and opened it. Robb could see Jon’s face from the corner, and he didn’t look pleased.

“What is it, Thorne?”

“Mind your manners. I’m hiding your biggest secret right now.”

“Aye, you are. So what do you want?”

“Do you and the king want supper?”

Jon seemed stumped then. His brow furrowed and he looked at Thorne in confusion. Robb moved out then, less afraid of Thorne as the man was protecting him thus far. Even if Jon and he didn’t seem to like one another, they seemed to trust one another.

Jon asked, his tone thick with petulance and curiosity, “The king? Not Stannis, then.”

Thorne eyed Robb across the room and looked at him meaningfully. His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Any king who returns from the dead is the one I would follow. We don’t pick sides anyway so what’s it matter?”

Jon seemed at a loss for words. Thorne rolled his eyes and muttered he’d bring supper. Robb shook his head then and Thorne stopped, both of them turning to look at him. Melisandre appeared at Thorne’s elbow then, peering into the room at Robb.

“I imagine he’s not hungry very often,” she said, her voice still as wondrous as it was. Thorne jumped at her appearance and tried to look like he hadn’t, grumbling that “Jon can get his own damn supper then” and disappearing again. Melisandre moved into the room and shut the door behind her.

Her presence clearly made Jon uncomfortable and Robb fought the urge to get rid of her.

She noticed, of course, and smiled. “You have a strong sense of self-control, King Robb. I imagine you fight the urge to draw blood often, yet you haven’t.”

Robb said nothing. He watched her closely as she approached Jon, however 

“I imagine the desire to enact vengeance against your wronged family consumes you,” she continued, her hand reaching out to touch Jon’s curls. Robb felt his hand curl into a fist once more, his lip forming a snarl. Grey Wind began to growl too, rising from his position cuddled with Ghost by the fire.

Melisandre didn’t comment or flinch. “Your protectiveness will rule you in your new state, but I’m sure you know that already. I only wonder, as I’m sure you do… how far will you go to protect what is yours, Young Wolf?”

She reached in for a kiss then from Jon, who was torn between pushing her away in a decidedly aggressive move and letting her to do it out of fear of striking a woman. Robb, however, had no such compunctions and he rapidly moved across the room, grabbing her by her throat and thrusting her against the door. He heard Jon distantly yelp and the wolves both growl loudly but his mind was only on Melisandre. 

The woman in question was choking under his grip. His other hand had come to her ribs, which were being crushed under his pressure. _It would be so easy_ , the voice in Robb’s mind whispered, _and then she’d never hurt him again._ He felt hands on him, but they were no match for him – for all of his newfound lively humanity, the hands were nothing compared to the unrelenting grip of the undead.

It wasn’t until he heard Jon’s voice in his ear telling him _come back to me_ that he returned to himself and let go of Melisandre. She fell to the floor, coughing violently and gripping her throat. Rather than outrage, however, she only looked at Robb and smiled serenely. She stood then, using the door to help her, and said through a choked voice, “What tethers you to life, my king? We both know what it is… so don’t let it go.”

She opened the door then and disappeared. The door shut behind her at Jon’s push and the man leaned against it, staring at Robb in disbelief.

“What have you done?”

Blinking tiredly as the fight entirely left him, Robb just sighed and moved back to the bed. He felt himself curl into a ball against the wall on his side, his eyes gazing into nothing. _What am I?_ He asked himself, his eyes tracing some of the cracks in the wall opposite him. _What have I become? Why is there so much anger inside me?_ Jon moved to the bed again then, sitting down and reaching out a hand to Robb’s prone form. 

“Robb…” Jon whispered, his hand coming to Robb’s face and hair to stroke it gently. He slammed his eyes shut, the kindness of his touch repelling him. Jon’s hand pulled away and Robb listened as he locked the door to his room and undressed. He let Jon prod him around and remove his clothes until he got under the furs, allowing Jon to climb in beside him. Robb didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t need warmth like that anymore. The bed was probably too small for two grown men to cuddle in sleep, and yet they did it anyway.

Robb let himself doze, nuzzling in close to Jon and breathing him in deeply as he drifted off. He must have fallen in and out of sleep, but Jon remained tucked against him the whole time. A knock on the door awoke Jon but he did not answer, even though he too arose from his slumber. Jon shook his head as Robb tilted his up to look at him in question. They stayed quiet until whoever it was disappeared and then they shifted in position, so they sat up more.

At some point, the wolves began to cuddle once more by the fire. Robb watched them in silence as he let his head rest against Jon’s chest, his heartbeat echoing in Robb’s ear. There was no sweeter sound in that moment. He felt Jon’s hand drifting in circles around his back, the two of them far more naked than they should be as brothers. Robb let the baser part of him shrug that off and indulged in the whisper in his mind that told him to take what was his. He moved his leg closer to Jon’s naked one and shut his eyes again, pretending he wasn’t resentful of their smallclothes. He focused instead on the warmth of Jon’s body, a welcome reprieve from the coldness in his own.

“It broke my heart.”

Jon’s voice was so quiet, so sad, so hurt. Robb knew what he meant and swallowed, the guilt eating him up suddenly.

He continued, “I was going to ride south so many times. First when you were declared king, again when you were winning, and then when you died. I wanted revenge so badly I could taste it. But I didn’t. I wish I had.”

Robb shook his head, bringing a hand up to rest on Jon’s chest, watching as his own fingers traced letters on Jon’s bare chest.

“I remember thinking, after I heard, that I would give anything to see you again, hear you again, hold you in my arms again… the gods heard me, it seems.”

The king smiled, tucking his face further in. He wanted so badly to say, _Perhaps the gods brought me back just for this._

Jon chuckled then and said, “Aye, perhaps so. Perhaps they are kinder than we thought.”

Robb froze. He sat up suddenly, watching as Jon dropped his arms in a clear sign of distaste. Blinking wildly, Robb tried to project his next thought with as much ferocity as he did the previous one, _Did you hear what I said?_

Jon’s brow furrowed then, and he looked at Robb’s mouth closely, nodding faintly. Jon sat up then too in a rush, the two staring at one another in wonder. The moment was interrupted by another knock at the door, firmer this time. Thorne’s voice echoed then and said, “We’ve let you sleep long enough. We have bodies to burn. Come on.”

His bootsteps echoed away and Jon blinked, a heavy sigh coming from him then as he was suddenly overcome with grief, managing to in a moment look a decade older. Robb felt strong, unrelenting pity then and moved forward to put a hand on Jon’s cheek. The two’s eyes met, and Robb projected his thought as hard as he could muster.

_I would take away your pain, if I could, and bear it all myself._

It was obvious Jon heard his words. His lips puckered in the same way it did when he was about to weep as a child. He moved then to embrace Robb, the two bringing their bodies together in an embrace that Robb would have given anything to stay in forever. 

Jon had a duty however and he moved out of bed to do it. Robb watched as he dressed, unashamedly staring at Jon’s pert backside, hidden by smallclothes, stronger and fuller now with years of work and age. Jon turned after his breeches were on and the two kept their eyes mostly locked as he put on his undershirt, doublet, jerkin, and then cloak. Robb let his eyes wander on Jon’s chest, however, and Jon, strangely, just watched him do it.

When Jon was dressed, Robb watched as he walked over to the bed and gave Robb a long kiss on the forehead. He whispered, “Stay here until I get back.”

Robb smiled then, fighting the urge to try and speak to make a joke about where else he would go, but Jon looked sincere and said, “I meant in bed.”

The blush that fought to come to Robb then surprised him. He didn’t think he was capable of it. Moreover, as he watched Jon retrieve his sword and tie it around him, he didn’t think Jon would indulge the base, animalistic desire to make love to his brother as Robb did. Robb had an excuse for his growing obsession with Jon, born of lust and love both. As Jon left the room with one last long look at Robb, he wondered what Jon’s was. Perhaps it was not that at all, perhaps he truly did think Robb needed warmth and coddling and it was entirely innocent. Curling back up and wishing a warm bed and the friendly touch of a brother was all he needed, Robb sighed and shut his eyes.

* * *

Days passed, the ceremonial burning of the bodies passing without Robb’s attendance. He listened as the courtyard oversaw the punishment to Mance Rayder, with Robb growing confused about what exactly he was hearing, what could have caused such obvious shock and awe. Later that night, Jon informed him of his decision, after his meeting with the King Beyond the Wall, a title that left Robb thoughtful, to spare Mance the agony of being burned alive. There was pride in Robb at that, despite Jon’s fears he had done wrong. Jon’s steward Olly seemed to dislike the decision, but _he’s only a kid_ , Jon had explained, _he’ll learn._

Robb spent days in Jon’s room, drinking very little and eating even less. He began to feel restless and Jon knew it. They had gotten better at communicating. Robb could only really project his thoughts at him when they were touching – the skin-to-skin contact seemed to encourage some kind of bond, one he always thought was only found in literal wolves. Regardless, it was a relief to be able to tell Jon exactly what happened at the Twins and about Talisa and hear from him about beyond the Wall and Ygritte.

They spent a lot of time sitting or laying together and wondering about their lost siblings. Robb always felt guilty then for how close he was to Jon and tried to imperceptibly move away. Jon always seemed to follow regardless, his worries over Arya mostly but Bran, Rickon, and Sansa as well filtering through at the same time. Robb ached to think about what happened to Sansa in particular in King's Landing after his "death." He liked to think his existence protected her to some degree and hoped he could help her one day as he always should have.

He was lost in thought considering his own predicament once more when his mind went to the Baratheon king he shared grounds with. Robb knew the time was coming for him to meet Stannis, to let the man know precisely who was there and under what circumstances. The day came when Jon appeared at the door looking apprehensive and fearful. Robb nodded and dressed quickly, ignoring the grimness of Jon in the doorway.

The two were closer than ever, neither of them willing to make the final step toward the indecency of incest. Robb, acknowledging the part of him that came alive with his rebirth, felt consumed at times by the fire-fed desire to mate with Jon, but Jon was reluctant for obvious reasons. Robb vowed to himself that he would never force it.

The two left the room, Robb looking kinglier than he had in moons. He thought distantly of Howland, who he had told Jon about, and the regal clothing he had packed Robb. He made a mental note to write Howland an update and thanks. Jon had been fascinated by the hand language Robb showed him and explained he had seen some of the wildlings use something similar, particularly when hunting.

They came to a door that Robb assumed was the Lord Commander’s office and room. Jon told him to wait and he entered, keeping the door mostly closed.

Robb listened as Stannis inquired after Jon’s presence in a tone that was far too friendly for Robb’s taste and Jon’s answer that they needed to figure something out. Jon opened the door more then and Robb met Stannis’ eyes across the room. The man looked suddenly horrified, intimidated, and determined at the same time. He stood up quickly, the chair knocking back in a loud screech. A young girl sat in the corner who jumped up then too, her face far too excited.

“King Robb? Is that you?”

Stannis’s stern voice echoed then, “Hush, Shireen. Leave us.”

Shireen, who Robb placed as the king’s daughter, quickly moved out of the room past Robb, staring at him gleefully until the door was shut behind her. The room was tense, and Robb fought the urge to eye Melisandre in the corner or Jon by his side.

Stannis raised his head and said, “So, you didn’t die.”

Smiling faintly, aware that it was a grim thing, Robb gestured to Jon, who spoke for him. “He did, Your… Your Grace. He, his mother, and his wife, and their unborn child. The gods saw fit to return him to us, however.”

“Why are you speaking for him?” Stannis asked, clearly missing nothing. His gaze was vaguely inquisitive, yet wary and irritated. Robb suspected this was typical, from what he knew about the eldest Baratheon son.

Jon responded, “The gods took his voice. His mind is intact as well as his heart, but his voice is gone.”

Nodding, Stannis looked at him appraisingly. He moved around the desk then and approached Robb, the two kings staring at one another. Stannis spoke quieter then and said, “It was unjust, what happened. A violation of the sacred law of guest-right and a betrayal by a sworn bannerman. I would help you get justice.”

Robb did not need Jon to speak for the “For what?” to echo in the room.

“I want the-“

He did not finish the sentence. Robb held up a hand and gave him a dark look. The hand froze in place between them, Stannis’ eyes flickering from the hand to Robb’s own throat, which openly bore the old wounds of betrayal. The look of fear flickered in Stannis’ eyes before disappearing, the same hardened gaze replacing it. Melisandre chose then to speak up.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I’ve known he was here for a fortnight. However, I must interject and point out, as this is my jurisdiction, that when men return from the dead, they are more subject to heightened negative attributes and baser instincts. King Robb died for the North and for the Starks… I don’t think he will let either of them go.”

The room was fraught with tension. Stannis seemed torn between being offended Melisandre kept this from him and offended at the prospect of only six kingdoms. Jon looked like he wanted to bolt. A man in the corner, _perhaps Davos Seaworth_ , Robb thought, looked steadily on at everything, his gaze analytical. Robb could only imagine what he looked like. He only truly had eyes for Stannis, however, as he dropped his hand finally, noticing the room easing again.

The man in question spoke then and asked, “You would ask me to give up the entire North.”

Robb moved around him to the desk, scratching out words on some parchment. He held it out to Stannis as he turned around and the man eyed him before he took it. He turned a little, as if that would deter Robb from his unrelenting stare.

“I am not asking. The North belongs to the Starks. There will be no Baratheons, no Lannisters, no Greyjoys, and no Boltons in it by the time I am finished.”

The parchment was ripped out of his hands and Robb added something before handing it over once more. Stannis grabbed it back, openly irritated, and continued, “I will pledge my forces to you for the rest of Westeros… but only if the North is mine.”

The proposal hung heavy in the air. If Robb revealed himself to be alive, the amount of support he would receive would hopefully be unmatched. He had the North, despite the Boltons, and he had the crannogmen and the rivermen, too. A king returned from the dead would certainly convince those still undecided in the wars as well, Robb surmised, hoping Stannis thought the same. The greying man was deep in thought, pondering the parchment in his hands. It would be a staggering amount of help, but it would mean giving up the Northernmost kingdom. He waved at the room and Jon seemed to understand what it meant more than Robb. 

Jon put a hand on the King in the North’s arm, and they left the three behind to discuss, Robb looking at him inquisitively as they moved back toward Jon’s room. When they finally arrived, Jon spoke and explained that Stannis was clearly going to entertain Robb’s proposition, judging by the fact he didn’t have him violently removed nor did he scold him.

Robb chuckled and grabbed Jon’s hand, asking, _Does he often scold you?_

Jon just rolled his eyes. Robb understood this as a yes and tried not to be viciously jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here u go, lads. i changed up melisandre coming on to jon to be a lil different for this bc i never liked how creepy it felt on the show, this felt a little more sane. further, i hope my #stannisthemannis love doesn't show too strong.* as i said, every person will bow to robb eventually. we are here to be Pro-Robb(TM) and nothing less!
> 
> *there will be no shireen-burning in this fic, do not fret
> 
> do not @ me if jon seems ooc for immediately layin about w/ his brother. we're here for a good time, lads, not a long time
> 
> next chapter soon, we'll see how quickly and well i can edit them all up


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things change, some things stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry lads. i finally watched stranger things and it's had 9000% of my attention

Days later, Stannis visited Jon’s quarters where he must have been informed Robb was staying. The two spoke over the desk and were still lost in plans when Jon entered his room. He seemed vaguely exasperated that the two kings chose his bedroom for this but greeted them both nonetheless. He sat on the bed and undid his boots as he listened to the close of their discussions.

Stannis stood and nodded at Jon. “Your brother has a sound mind, however limited he may be in speech. He is a good king and he is confident I am as well. Together, we can manage Westeros well. It will be a partnership. The Starks will keep the North and King Robb will fight for and support my claim, so long as we win the fight against the White Walkers, of course.” 

That seemed to catch Jon’s attention. He looked at Stannis incredulously, he stared knowingly at him. Jon’s gaze fell to Robb, who was altogether too smug. Stannis nodded at both of them, taking his things, and leaving the room with a “My Lord” to Jon and “Your Grace” to Robb.

When the door closed, Jon turned to Robb in awe. “You convinced him?”

Robb gestured to himself before holding out his hands in a gestured that suggested his meaning, which was plainly, _If I exist, how can he deny White Walkers?_

Mostly, Robb worked hard to convince Stannis because he knew Jon’s plan to retrieve the Free Folk from Hardhome was the only option. If the Army of the Dead was as powerful and terrifying as Jon, Samwell Tarly, and the other men suggested, including the wildling Tormund, it would do no one any good to hand over the entire population of Hardhome. Jon would need support in bringing the wildlings south of the Wall, now that he was Lord Commander, and Robb was eager to give it.

Moving around his desk once more, Robb grabbed at Jon’s clothing, urging it off. The hour had grown late, as Jon was only returning to his room because his watch was over for the night. The night before, they had stayed up late talking about their lost siblings. Jon told Robb he had given Arya a sword before she left and it comforted Robb to know she was probably managing out in the wild with it. Sansa was still lost somewhere, but Robb felt growing dread about her whereabouts after it was reported Petyr Baelish was missing from the Capital as well, long-returned to the Vale. He knew how obsessive Littlefinger was about his mother. 

As for Bran and Rickon, Jon mentioned Rickon was safe at the Last Hearth weeks ago. Bran, however, was still lost to them. They worried over him, but Robb knew he was last with Hodor and the wildling Osha, two people who could keep him alive, along with Summer.

As Robb finished removing Jon’s clothes, the man watching him closely, they stopped to stare at one another. How badly Robb wished he could just bridge the gap between them and make love to Jon like he wanted to. It was a long-dismissed fact to Robb that they were brothers – it mattered not to him. He would never put Jon in a position like that, however, which showed itself once again as Jon moved away and Robb let him.

He watched as the new Lord Commander shuffled about the room, organizing his thoughts. What Robb wouldn’t give, he thought breathlessly, to wrap himself around Jon and feel him so thoroughly and completely. As he watched Jon’s body move to adjust some of his things, Robb couldn’t help but imagine running his mouth, tongue, hands, anything over Jon’s body, feeling all of those muscles under him – or over him.

Blinking it away, Robb turned and made to undress himself. Very infrequently since that first night did they sleep naked together. Robb kept his smallclothes on as he made to get into bed, but he was stopped by Jon’s hand on his waist. He turned and noticed Jon had stripped himself entirely bare while he was turned away. Robb swallowed and resisted the urge to lick his lips at the sight of Jon’s cock hanging heavy between his legs, nestled in black curls. He lifted his eyes again to meet Jon’s, who was watching him with a heated gaze. Jon reached to push down Robb’s smallclothes, which he helped with willingly.

Under his gaze, Robb climbed into bed, never taking his eyes off Jon, especially when the man stared at his cock as hungrily as Robb had. He resisted the urge to preen under Jon’s warm scrutiny and watched as he climbed into bed alongside Robb. Quickly, he shifted himself to hover over Robb, the two of them barely touching but the warmth of him enticing Robb all the same. 

Jon spoke then, quiet, and said, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Robb resisted the urge to smile smugly. There was no doubting what it was Jon did to him.

“I would have never considered it years ago but now…” Jon moved a hand to his body, running a hand down it and watching his own fingers’ journey as they approached his naval. “I have to remind myself that you have an excuse for indulging your baser instincts. I don’t.”

_You could have me._

Robb felt Jon’s cock twitch at that and leered at the man over him as Jon blushed. The distance between them closed more as Jon’s resolve began to slip. Robb heeded Jon’s words, however, and as much as he hated himself for it, he picked up his hands and held them at Jon’s shoulders.

_But I won’t make you. I’ll learn to control myself better. I don’t want to compromise you._

Jon smiled then, a wicked yet sorrowful one. He finally let himself collapse gently entirely on top of Robb, their cocks touching in a glorious way that had Robb’s toes curling. His hands moved to embrace Jon’s shoulders and back as their faces searched one another. Jon responded, whispering, “I’m already compromised. I have been since you walked through that doorway.”

The moment hung in the air and Robb resolved to try and push him away one last time. He was in the middle of thinking _I’ll understand if you back off_ when Jon’s lips met his. It was as if a dam broke. Robb threw himself into the kiss, wrapping himself entirely in Jon. Their bodies moved together then, one of Jon’s hands coming to touch all over Robb’s body.

Robb flipped them over then, the urge to be on top of him all-consuming. He sat up a bit, his knees straddled on either side of Jon’s hips, their cocks sliding together. He thrust forward, watching Jon’s face morph into one of ecstasy, and Robb leaned down once more, still shallowly thrusting. Their lips met again briefly until Robb moved to latch his mouth onto his neck, chest, and then down his body until he was mouthing at his naval.

He looked up at Jon once more to check if it was okay and he was shocked by the gaze that met him. Jon’s eyes were blown black and he looked entirely consumed by what was happening. In a voice that was equal parts gentle and rough, Jon moved a hand to the back of Robb’s head and pushed him toward his cock and said, “Go on.”

The gruffness touched Robb somewhere and he obeyed. He licked a stripe up Jon’s cock and watched him writhe in pleasure, his hand never leaving Robb’s curls. As he continued to work at his cock, the grip on his hair grew stronger and stronger. Jon muttered desperately that he was nearly there, slipping it in between gasps of Robb’s name and murmurs of love and praise that Robb soaked up, he pulled hard. Robb made a noise and Jon quickly let go, briefly horrified. Pulling off with a pop, Robb shook his head and moved Jon’s hand back, nodding at him to pull hard again.

Jon did, hesitant, but as Robb continued his pace, sucking at his brother’s cock, he pulled hard again and Robb moaned, the sound vibrating around Jon. Moments later, he came with a strangled shout, trying to keep quiet but lost in the pleasure regardless. Robb pulled back to allow some of the come to not land in his mouth and moved back, allowing Jon a moment’s respite. Despite this, however, Jon urged Robb back up his body and reached down to grab at Robb’s cock.

As he started to rub, Robb felt antsy. _It’s not enough,_ he thought. Jon hesitated and whispered, “I’ve never taken it but I-”

Robb shook his head then, suddenly a little more frantic. He urged them to turn over again and so Jon flipped them, resuming their starting position as Jon hovered over him. Robb looked at him pleadingly and Jon seemed to understand, his hand reaching past Robb’s cock then to rub at his hole. _That’s it,_ Robb thought helplessly, desperately moving against Jon’s hand.

Jon reached to his stomach, but he paid Jon no mind. Suddenly, the finger at his hole was wet with something that Robb quickly realized was Jon’s own release. Shutting his eyes and gripping Jon tightly as he tucked a finger inside, Robb resisted the urge to squeal in pleasure, knowing he’d never live it down.

He felt Jon put another finger in and he parted his legs even more, wrapping them as best he could around Jon. Jon bent over then, his fingers still working in Robb’s hole as they met lips again. Robb kissed him desperately, wrapping his hands and legs around Jon as he reached his thumb up to touch elsewhere. Robb keened as Jon brought his other hand to his cock and he came like that, completely engulfed in Jon and entirely at his mercy.

As the two laid there cuddled close, coming down from their high, Robb felt anxious. He let himself remain tucked into Jon but knew it may not last. Regret was common in their family and fucking his brother is something Jon, honorable and noble Jon, would probably regret. Sleep came fitfully and when it did, it was restless and dreamless as always.

* * *

When Robb awoke, Jon was nowhere to be found. The embers of the fire were stoked but the bed was cold. He slowly pulled himself upright, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair. His gut churned with anxiety that he and Jon may be fractured now – words and thoughts expressed in throes of passion were no foundation for a relationship. The consequences were dire. Robb thought he had learned his lesson by now.

As he crawled out from under the furs and ran a washcloth over himself, dressing for the day, his mind wandered instead to his meeting with Stannis. Jon seemed incredulous that Robb had convinced Stannis to fight against an Army of the Dead. It seemed obvious to Robb that if Jon and his wildling partner Tormund Giantsbane were so intent on traveling to Hardhome for the safety of the wildlings, it was true.

While Jon was headed to Hardhome, however, Robb was headed back down south. The first stop was Last Hearth, to collect Rickon from the Umbers and receive their allegiance once more. Stannis and Robb agreed it would be best to send out letters to the Northern great houses that Robb was not dead after all. When Robb mentioned he would visit the Dreadfort and pay the Boltons a visit, he was informed that the Boltons resided in Winterfell now, which made Robb’s blood boil. It was that specific bit of information that caused him to plot his return. He would retake Winterfell, he had promised Stannis, and destroy the Boltons too. Stannis offered his men but Robb rejected it – he did not need an army, only 20 good men and his wolf.

He was in the middle of tucking his gloves on and staring into the fire, lost in the flames and his own fury at his murderers, when the door opened. Robb turned and the sight of his half-brother filled his vision. Any other time, he would be relieved and pleased. Now, he was only wary. 

With an unsure look, Robb watched as Jon took a step in the room, turned, and closed the door very slowly, as if he were stalling. Robb supposed he was. Suddenly, Robb had to get out.

As Jon began to turn, Robb felt his heart rise in his throat. He moved quickly, grabbing the rest of his things before moving towards the door. Jon stepped out of the way, his face morphing into something Robb couldn’t process quick enough, letting him by to unlatch the door again. He disappeared outside and wished more than anything that he could have felt the cold whip against his face to refresh him.

His mind hazy and his body consumed by the overwhelming feeling of loss, regret, guilt, and so much misplaced love, Robb moved toward the training yard. It was unfair to the brothers to ask them to fight and spar with him. Even though Robb had returned from the dead and had, he learned, a certain resistance to pain and injury that he didn’t have before, there was leftover hesitance in sparring with and striking a king. Moreover, he was stronger than he once was, and he didn’t want to hurt Jon’s men.

The thought of him tugged on his heart again so he moved toward the rack of blunted blades and grabbed one. His eyes met some of the men who were making their way to train as well and hesitantly, the one Jon called Grenn asked if he’d like to spar. Robb, knowing they all knew of his affliction, simply nodded and gestured.

The next hour was filled with the grunts, yells, whelps, and laughter of the men in the yard. It was painfully obvious from the moment they began that no one was any match for Robb, so he took to training them as best he could with his limitation. Stannis had stopped by at one point to watch and when Robb successfully taught Lyon, a Snow from Karhold, to parry well enough with only his actions, the greying king nodded approvingly and disappeared again.

Robb was in the midst of teaching two men to dodge blows when he swung his sword around and it clashed with another. Suddenly, two blades were crossed, and Robb’s eyes were locked with Jon’s. The man seemed irritated, his shoulders hunched and his gaze firey. They remained there for a moment before frustration overcame Robb once more and he pivoted to strike at Jon again.

A battle ensued. Robb knew the two of them were evenly matched. Before everything, Jon may have had the upper hand from being completely gifted at sword-fighting, but now Robb had the advantage of unnatural strength and stamina. As the two moved around the yard, their blunted blades clanging and Jon’s shouts and grunts echoing through the air, Robb silent as ever, the other men took steps back to give them space.

Robb didn’t know how much time passed. All he could focus on was dodging Jon’s blows and watching him, trying not to let how in love with him he was blind him to the task at hand. The task being both avoiding Jon’s swordplay and avoiding Jon entirely. As the two of them locked arms in a battle for dominance, their blades swinging above them, Robb thought desperately as he looked into Jon’s dark eyes, _It’s for your own good._

The effect was immediate, as Robb had ditched most of his outer clothes and the thought communicated against Jon’s bare hands. – Jon grew visibly incensed, pushing Robb off and shouting, “That’s not up to you!” He swung his blade around in a beautiful spin move and Robb parried him off as he began a barrage of strikes. There was fury in Jon’s blows, _probably righteous fury_ , Robb thought. The two danced around one another, Robb mostly trying to avoid Jon’s angry swings, but trying to push back eventually as well.

Suddenly, a whistle sounded. Everyone froze and Robb stopped, turning to look up at the bannister where Stannis, Melisandre, and Davos stood once more. Robb grew angry at the idea of Stannis whistling to him like a dog but quickly realized, when the king looked in disbelief at Davos, that it had come from his Hand.

Robb furrowed his brow and gazed at Davos expectantly. The man drew himself up and said in a nervous voice but with the confidence of a father, “You shouldn’t spar when you’re angry. That’s how you get hurt. If the two of you need to work something out, do it somewhere else. We need both of you.”

Whatever response Robb may have had to whatever Davos had to say dissipated. He felt embarrassed suddenly and then irritated at his own embarrassment. He sent a glare at Stannis, hoping he conveyed his dismay, and then looked at Jon who, to his surprise, just looked sheepish. The man was sending a small, sorry smile to Davos who merely chuckled. _When did they become so close?_ Robb thought enviously, moving suddenly to put his sword away and walk off. Once he placed the blade in the rack and dressed once more, he turned but Jon’s hand came to his arm suddenly.

The glove he had just placed on came off as Jon took hold of his wrist. In an angry, whispered tone, he said, “What game are you playing at?”

Eyes flashing to him in both fury and disbelief, Robb grabbed him with his other hand and conveyed to him, _It is no game. I am protecting you._

Jon’s eyes narrowed at that. “You couldn’t have decided that before you fucked me?”

His tone was vicious, and it hurt Robb. His grip tightened on Jon before thinking as viciously as he could back, _I tried. You said you were already compromised. I took advantage of that, but I know what I am, you said it yourself. I’m a demon, I’m unnatural, I’m-_

Jon’s hand ripped away from his then, his face turning away but not before Robb spotted the hurt on it. His voice was muffled by the wind when he spoke again, but Robb heard it. “Don’t say those things about yourself. I didn’t mean it like that. You-”

Robb grabbed his hand before he could finish and thought the words that had been winding around his mind since they met again. The moment Robb realized his obsession with Jon wasn’t natural, the moment he realized the love he had for Jon wasn’t right. He tugged Jon back and looked at him closely before thinking, _I was returned to this land to protect our family. I did not realize I had to protect you from me, too._

Jon’s brow furrowed at that, his throat moving as he swallowed thickly. Robb couldn’t bear his company any longer then and removed his hand, replacing his glove. The conversation was over. Robb said his piece, admitting to the lecherous creature he was. He wouldn’t hurt Jon any more than he already had.

As he turned away and began to walk toward the stairwell, he felt overwhelming guilt bite at his throat. Robb knew he was not being fair, and he knew he had led Jon on only to push him away. But he supposed he had to have Jon to know he could never truly have him at all. It wasn’t natural for men to lay with men in general and certainly not for brother to lay with brother. _Jon will see it, with time,_ Robb thought. His mind went, then, to Ygritte, and thought, _He will find another, and I will live in solitude, as I belong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written any kind of smut in 104 years. love angst tho


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew at the Wall makes plans, the undead king has some fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay, i got distracted by, uh, everything
> 
> and ima keep it 100 here and admit i just...... straight up fuckin forgot about grey wind and ghost. i get it d&d, i get it now, they are so forgettable honestly i am so sorry grey wind and ghost you just are but they'll be back next chapter i SWEAR

Robb was entrenched in a meeting with Stannis, Tormund, Davos, and Jon. It revolved around their upcoming trip to Hardhome and how to best negotiate the movement of the wildlings – _Free Folk, Tormund had insisted_ – down south. Robb knew he had to travel to Last Hearth soon and commune with the Umbers. Smalljon held Rickon for now and he still owed allegiance to House Stark, resisting the Boltons. If they let the wildlings through, the Last Hearth could be susceptible to attack.

Tormund swore they wouldn’t, but Robb knew better than any how quickly survival, whether physical or status, could change a man. He conveyed as much through writing and Tormund had gone quiet. He believed in Tormund and wanted to believe the wildlings, _Free Folk,_ were capable of behaving, if not kneeling, but he was worried about his brother’s safety, too, and the allegiance of the Umbers.

“Perhaps it’s best if we send someone from the Free Folk with you,” Stannis suggested, his tone as dry and disinterested as usual. Robb knew by now that it was a farce, but it still struck him at times.

Tormund seemed amenable to the idea. “I could send Karsi with you. She’s much friendlier than the rest of us.”

Robb gave Tormund a serene smile that hoped conveyed his thoughts, which were jokingly, _As friendly as you?_

It seemed to work, as Tormund laughed jovially and said, “Even friendlier than me.”

Jon’s sullen tone came then as he rebutted, “When we meet, you told me to kneel every time you farted.” Tormund’s laughter boomed around the room, Davos joining him, causing even Stannis to turn a lip up and Robb to emit his strange, silent laughter. Jon looked pleased with himself which Robb tried desperately to not fawn over.

The two were making it work, despite everything. Both Robb and Jon understood the importance of everything at stake and shelved their dispute for now. Neither of them were inclined to share their ability of communication, a strange secret they wanted to keep lest it be exploited somehow, so Robb stuck to writing on paper. Their interactions were minimal, limited only to the casual correspondence of a King in the North and a Lord Commander. It cut Robb deep, somewhere he thought was left behind in his past life, but he had no one to blame but himself. Jon, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered. Robb pretended that didn’t hurt either.

The absence of Jon’s steward Olly and Ser Alliser did not go unnoticed. Jon explained that Olly’s family had been slaughtered by the Free Folk, one of whom was in the room, so he was reluctant to include Olly in these discussions or plans. As for Thorne, Jon had remarked, he’s not important enough. The bitterness made everyone chuckle.

Hours later, Robb was escorted into the Free Folk’s encampment beyond the Wall to meet Karsi. When they met, the falling sun shining through the tent's holes, Tormund explained Robb was resurrected and _the gods took his tongue,_ a fact which made the other Free Folk elders look on in awe. It made Robb uncomfortable, but he knew the importance of this alliance and anything that ingratiated him to the Free Folk, he took. If he stood a little taller, he hoped it seemed natural.

Karsi approached him then, her face a stirring mix of awe and wariness. She reached out and touched his face, her touch gentle like a mother’s, and Robb realized her face reminded him of his lost mother’s, particularly whenever he did anything kingly. He was overcome, suddenly, but how much he missed Catelyn and tried desperately to keep it out of his head. Karsi seemed to notice his sadness.

“You weren’t the only death that day, were you?”

His heart felt heavy. His mind was filled with images of his beautiful mother, her face growing old but still as vibrant and strong as ever. Robb wished his hair was still as red as hers, if only to remember her, the amber luster long-lost from it to his dismay. He had mourned his lost wife on the ride up North, saddened that he was never able to actually show her the land he hailed from. But his mother…

Tormund spoke then, his tone quieter than usual. Jon must have told him what happened, as he reported, “His mother died… and his wife and unborn child. Slaughtered under guest-right by his own men, the three of them.” 

Karsi smiled sadly at him, her lips tight. Robb tried not to flinch at how easily and quickly his most traumatic and horrific event could be summed up. The woman’s other hand came up then, touching his face on both sides as she looked into his sunken eyes.

“The gods may have taken your tongue, but your eyes speak for you.” She dropped her hands then and took a step back, allowing him to breathe again. “I am sorry for your loss. I hope you will know peace one day.”

Robb nodded, hoping it would suffice. He was sometimes glad he could not speak. Karsi nodded in return and they both turned to Tormund, using him as their interlocutor. He remained serious still, but his voice resumed its booming nature.

“Robb is the King in the North. He’s Jon’s half-brother. Jon, as we all know, has agreed to go to Hardhome with us and bring us south. This man, however, is the one that will protect us once we get south of the Wall.”

An elder spoke then, his face leathery with time and the elements. “And how will you do this? I mean no disrespect to a man returned to us from the dead, but if you have been betrayed by your men before, who is to say it won’t happen again?” 

Robb raised his eyebrows, urging the man to heed his own words. Karsi, however, looked incredulous, glancing between the king and the elder. “He was brought back from the dead, isn’t that reason enough to be loyal? Is it not a clear sign from the gods that he is meant to be here and we are meant to at least listen, if not follow?”

The elder seemed satisfied rather than admonished. Robb supposed it was a genuine, necessary question to ask. In truth, Robb wasn’t sure if he was going to be safe from betrayal again. As he told Tormund, survival meant desperation and desperate men only had loyalty to themselves. In a way, Robb couldn’t blame them. When his neck ached from the phantom pain of a knife he had never actually felt in life, however, he did not feel as bad.

Remembering it, he reached a hand up unconsciously and rubbed at it. When he and Jon were close, Jon would rub his neck and back and chest, soothing the distant pains and aches that he no longer felt except in his darkest moments. Karsi’s eyes followed his hand and they widened when they landed on his neck. She reached out and, with gentle movements and a gentler touch, brushed her calloused fingers against the rough seam. Robb was torn between flinching away and leaning in. When his eyes connected with Tormund and he was clearly urging Robb to trust her, he chose to lean into Karsi’s touch, letting her feel. 

Her sigh was heavy with the weight of a thousand mothers. “I wouldn’t be able to survive if my child suffered like this.” Robb went to speak, to tell her his mother died after him, an instinct he hadn’t had in a while, and felt his face go red when nothing came out. She smiled at him softly and her head shook. “We’ll have plenty of time to learn to communicate, I’m assuming.”

She backed off then once more and Robb wilted. He was here on business, however, and he straightened again, looking at Tormund expectantly. The man had been watching with a fond smile, the same one he typically reserved for Jon now. Robb tried not to let it bother him, but when he noticed Jon returned the smile more often than not, he couldn’t help but remember that he had fallen in love with a redheaded wildling before.

Shoving his jealousy out of his mind, knowing he had no right to it any longer, he listened as Tormund explained. “He plans to go south to the Last Hearth. He plans to talk to the little lord there. We thought perhaps it would be best if he went in the company of one of us to prove we are not so bad. I thought of you, Karsi.”

“I am the most civilized,” came her droll tone. Robb glanced at her to see a wary smile on her face. The room chuckled but another elder stood then, looking at Robb closely.

“How do we know we can trust you?”

Robb resisted the urge to try and speak again. He had planned for this question regardless. Reaching into his side, pretending not to notice the room tensing, and pulling out a letter, he handed it to Karsi. She unfolded it and read slowly, Robb realizing with a light blush that they probably are not the best readers.

Regardless, she persisted. “You can’t trust me, but I knew you would ask. All I can promise is my word and the word of Jon, a man who has shown himself to be a friend to you, and a man who I have been close to since I was born. I have no desire to see us all perish at the hands of the White Walkers and I will do what I can to save as many lives as I am able, no matter where they are from. That is what being a king means, even if you don’t believe in it. I will protect you, even if you do not kneel. I am no stranger to sacrifices.”

The words hung heavy in the air as the room’s eyes all flew to Robb’s neck. It amused him sometimes, as he assumed that people thought this was how he died. He let them believe it, not particularly in the mood to strip himself and show them his true death scars nor their stories.

Karsi rolled up the parchment once more and handed it back to him. As he took it and tucked it away, she said, “I believe you. I will go.”

The elders began to bicker then, suddenly overcome with their collective urge to protect their own. Robb understood it and he and Tormund had anticipated it. They neglected to bring Jon as they thought Robb should meet with them on his own and develop his own relationship with them, only using him when necessary. Robb was suddenly grateful, as he realized Karsi would have probably understood their entire relationship within seconds.

As the elders bickered, Robb looked at Karsi and Tormund, who had stepped closer. The two of them seemed intent on ignoring everyone else and looked agreeable with Robb. He nodded at Tormund and tried to convey his desire to return with Karsi to Castle Black.

“Robb and I will meet with Karsi alone. Everyone get out.” _Good enough,_ Robb supposed.

* * *

As Castle Black bustled with activity in the couple days that followed as everyone prepared for their respective journeys, Robb tried to avoid Jon as best he could. He had taken up in a room adjacent to Stannis, a fact that enraged Jon. It was one of the few times that they spoke about the tension between them, Jon calling Robb ridiculous and cruel and Robb refusing to touch him so he could not speak back, further irritating Jon.

But the night before Jon left with Tormund and Edd and Robb left with Karsi and Davos, generously lent to him by Stannis, who was staying at Castle Black as a home base with Melisandre and his wife and daughter, Robb had to talk to him. He didn’t dream, per se – he was overcome with dread upon waking, however, and he had to talk to Jon.

When he got to Jon’s room and knocked while opening the door, he was met with the sight of Jon and Tormund sitting closely on the bed, the two of them deep in conversation. Robb felt bile rise in his throat and he gripped his fist in an effort not to be upset. He had no right, he knew that. As he met Jon’s eyes, they were wide and innocent, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Robb powered through, pretending it didn’t cut deep, pretending like it didn’t negate Robb’s entire purpose for coming.

He looked at Tormund meaningfully and the wildling just gave him a serene smile before standing, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder before moving past Robb with a hand on his as well. In a way, Robb knew he could never hate Tormund. Robb had accepted him as part of the family by now. The man was a strong fighter with a stronger mind, two things Robb needed desperately by his side. And the Free Folk were simpler than the Westerosi, as Karsi explained, calling everyone _kneelers_ – they didn’t really do betrayal. It was refreshing.

Robb supposed if anyone were to have Jon, if not him, Tormund was acceptable. He ignored the fact that it made his vision go white.

The door shut behind the man in question and Robb was left with Jon. The man seemed wary and Robb understood. Moving slowly toward the bed, letting Jon react, he felt relieved as Jon just gestured for him to sit.

He removed his glove, an entirely unnecessary aspect of dressing now, but part of his routine regardless, and touched Jon’s open hand.

_I had to say goodbye. I don’t have dreams, as you know, but I saw something anyway. Something is going to happen to you._

Jon’s brow furrowed and his grip tightened. Robb didn’t mean to scare him, but it scared Robb, so he supposed it wasn’t to be helped.

“At Hardhome?” Jon’s voice sounded afraid. All Robb could do was tighten his own grip and bring his other hand over, holding Jon’s calloused, skilled hand between his. He looked down at them and clung as hard as he could to the moment.

_I don’t know. I wish I had more details and I wish I could keep it to myself, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye properly, just in case._

“Saying goodbye properly?”

Robb looked more resolutely at their hands. He couldn’t look at Jon’s face, it would crush him. He tried not to think about those hands being on him, working him over as skillfully as he did his sword, or any other work Jon did as Lord Commander. Instead, Robb thought, _I have treated you unfairly. I became singularly obsessed with you and then pretended to ignore you. I am sorry for that, I did not mean to hurt you. You are my brother and I should have always treated you as such._

“Robb, I-” 

_No, let me. I don’t know what’s going to happen but it’s something dreadful, and it happens to you._ Robb picked his head up then, the urge to look at Jon’s dark, sorrowful eyes consuming him. He wished he could stay there forever. He wished that was his purpose in returning. _I know it is unnatural, but I love you with all of my being, whatever is left of it. I have given much thought to the burden of being undead and I don’t know if losing my voice is the worst of it._

“What do you mean?” Robb ignored how Jon's voice shook, how his eyes looked glassy and wide. He had to power through, he had to explain what was going on in his mind. Jon wasn't the only one in danger, Robb knew logically. 

_We are all aware by now that in my rebirth, I am baser. I try to hide it, but I do not always succeed. Protecting the Starks and avenging us is my only mission. I feel this fire burning in me, always, and sometimes I think it will consume me entirely. It has made me angry, and hateful, and cruel. It has also made me jealous, and possessive, and obsessive. You are the target and I am sorry for that. You deserve better than a brother who treats you like me._

“Robb, please just-”

Robb clenched his eyes shut then, ignoring Jon’s soulful, pleading stare. _Let me finish._

Jon fell silent then. The room seemed warm to Robb, a feeling he had forgotten in the time since he awoke in the river. Suddenly, he missed Howland Reed. He wondered how everyone fared in Greywater Watch, if they would still be loyal to him after finding out what he became: an undead king who let wildlings, affectionately dubbed Free Folk, through the Wall and fell in love with his brother.

“In love?”

Robb’s eyes flew open and he cursed his affliction once more. The bond he and Jon shared was a gift and certainly eased things for him but there was no denying its side effects. He resisted the urge to rip away his hands and stared resolutely at the floor instead. Quickly, he thought, _Do not think much on it. It is an obsessive, sickly love. It is wrong._

He felt Jon tense beside him and still refused to look at his face again. Robb felt the growing urge to pace the room like a wild beast. He felt trapped, he felt wrong, he felt- 

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Robb looked at Jon finally, seeing his face torn between sorrow and fury. He stood up then, leaving Robb on the bed to watch him, and paced the room himself. _Starks are wolves after all,_ Robb thought helplessly. He tried to ask Jon what he meant but, with a blush, foolishly reminded himself he could not speak.

Regardless, Jon heard him. “You describe yourself as unnatural, as wrong, as demonic, as a sickness. You refuse to look upon your own reflection, you refuse to dine with us, you refuse to bathe in anyone’s company. You won’t remove your doublet in the yard. You… you don’t know what you are to me. To everyone, but especially to me.”

He turned back to Robb then, who looked dumbfounded and embarrassed on the bed. The answer to all of those comments was simple – he _was_ all of those things and he did not want to make anyone feel as uncomfortable as he was. He was lucky, to be certain, but there was no denying it wasn’t natural. 

Jon seemed to know what he was thinking, and he grunted in frustration, running a hand through his curls. He came to Robb’s feet then and knelt, grabbing his hands and putting his lips to them, his eyes shut tight. “You are my king, from this day until my last day, and then beyond that. You are my brother, and my best friend, and you always have been. But you are also the one I love, and you will have to make your peace with that one day, as I have.”

_As you have?_

Jon smiled then, his lips ghosting Robb’s knuckles still as he looked up at Robb. “I will never take a wife, nor bear any children. I am beyond the jurisdiction of any king. Who will punish me for my sins?”

Robb was in disbelief. His emotions were spiraling away from him and he was desperately reaching out to hang on. His brow furrowed, he thought with a small amount of disdain in a voice that sounded like his mother's, _The gods?_

Jon laughed then, a weird sound as it was filled with equal parts scorn and, Robb realized, lust. “The gods returned you to me. For what purpose then? They must know something we don’t.”

The moment was shattered between them as the door opened once more with a knock. Davos appeared, his friendly, fatherly face typically a welcome sight, but now it made Robb want to growl. He didn’t seem to pick up on any of the room’s energy.

“My apologies, Your Grace, my lord. But I would like to meet with you and Karsi once more before we turn in.”

Robb and Jon both sighed. Jon pressed another kiss to Robb’s knuckles, not caring that Davos was in the doorway, and then another to Robb’s forehead, holding him close. He whispered something Robb couldn’t quite hear, but his hopeful heart told him it was _I love you_ and then he ushered Robb out.

Robb left with one last long look at Jon, that same feeling of dread coming over him. As he gazed at Jon, who was sitting at his desk now, lit by the fire and candlelight, looking more beautiful with his black curls and soft dark eyes than ever. Those eyes landed on him once more and Robb felt the urge to burst into tears. This was goodbye and Robb knew it.

With one last look, where Jon gave him a soft smile, Robb turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He took a moment to breathe, wishing so desperately he could just scream, and then let Davos lead him to his room. Robb’s eyes connected with Jon’s steward Olly down the hallway, who was watching closely with suspicion in his entire little body. Robb never truly spent time with the child, but he had no desire to either, for some reason. Looking at him now, however, Robb wished he had. He didn’t trust him. Davos didn’t notice a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god davos read the mfin room
> 
> sorry i made jon and robb be together then ripped them apart and sent them opposite ways. i just love that sweet, sweet angst! and i'm sure u can guess what robb's premonition is. sorry in advance
> 
> i loved karsi so she livin. i don't care if it doesn't make sense, she's ALIVE and she's gonna stay that way


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the wolf is back, lads. and i'll be the first to admit i think this chapter got away from me a little and got a bit long than i'd like but, you know, whatevs

Robb, with his small company of Grey Wind, Shadowmere, Davos, and Karsi, and their two horses, made his slow way towards Last Hearth. It took not even a week’s turn to reach it, but Robb knew all 3 of them dragging their feet.

There was a lot of tugging on clothes in trepidation as they arrived at the front doors, Robb outfitted as kingly as he could manage, Davos in finery, and Karsi as presentable as possible. In the time since they met, Robb began to use her as a replacement mother. He had felt somewhat bad about it until Karsi just told him, in that warm, gentle voice she started using with him, that she knew what he was doing, and she was fine with it. He tried earnestly to explain to her that he knew she was a respectable leader, a great warrior, a strong wildling woman, but she just pushed his parchment aside and said, “I am all of those things and I am also a mother.”

Standing at the gate, Robb looked up at the guards and watched as recognition then disbelief then awe rolled across their faces moment-to-moment. He felt anxious and resisted turning back to Davos and Karsi, facing them down intently instead. There were dire consequences to disobeying the king and he was not eager to punish Smalljon Umber, should he react negatively to their proposal concerning the Free Folk.

There were shouts inside and the doors opened, allowing the three of them to enter. As they made their way through the courtyard, echoes of “it’s the king!” sounding off, Robb kept his eyes trained on the doors to the hall. They opened shortly thereafter, and Robb dismounted, Karsi and Davos following suit.

As Smalljon Umber stepped out, clearly in the midst of running, his handsome, bearded face came into view, a welcome sight for Robb. He only hoped it remained so. The man looked frozen, his entire being stuck in time and place, his eyes gazing over Robb as if he was a ghost.

Robb supposed he was. He stepped forward and that seemed to break Smalljon out of it, the man running forward the rest of the way and grasping Robb by his arms. He pulled him into a hug, beginning to chatter in his deep voice about _a gift from the gods_ and _my king, this day until my last day_ and other sentiments. 

It was worrisome. Robb was glad for the allegiance, but he needed to know how allegiant Smalljon would be after knowing what they were there for. First, however, Robb needed to see his brother.

Before he could make any moves, Davos stepped forward and said, “Apologies, Lord Umber, on behalf of His Grace. The gods restored life to him but took his voice in return. He speaks through written word and through us.”

Smalljon looked at him and nodded, as if that made all the sense in the world, as if the gods’ negotiations on life and punishment were normal to acknowledge. He gave Robb a smile regardless and said, “It matters not. If the gods thought you needed your voice, they would have given it back. It is a joy to see you among us once more and I extend my deepest apologies and condolences for not being at the Twins to help.”

Robb shook his head, hoping to convey himself properly. If Smalljon had been there, he would have perished as well. Rickon would not be safe then. Past faults were past faults, as far as Lord Umber was concerned. Robb looked at Davos imploringly, who gave him a small smile and nodded.

Davos looked to Smalljon once more and said, “I believe the king would like to see his brother before we discuss anything further.”

The grin on Smalljon’s face was contagious. Robb tried to resist smiling so much, as he knew his face crinkled in a fairly gruesome way when he did, but he couldn’t help himself. At Smalljon’s urging, they retreated into the hall from whence he came, and Robb felt his heart in his throat. 

There, sitting on the high chair with a wild-looking woman, looking so much older than he once did, was his little brother Rickon. Robb resisted the urge to run to him, knowing not only would Rickon not recognize him, but he was also under the impression Robb was dead. Slowly, Robb approached and knelt before him.

Rickon frowned at him, his face torn between curiosity and wariness both. “Who are you?”

He heard Smalljon and Davos both behind him make indignant noises, but he silenced them both with a hand. He went to extend a hand to Rickon, just to touch him, when the woman spoke instead.

“This is your brother, Rickon. This is your eldest brother Robb.”

He looked at her and she gave him a knowing smile, no small amount of wickedness in it too. He observed her unkempt hair and clothes, despite any attempts to calm them otherwise, and knew that this woman was a wildling and he felt hopeful that perhaps Smalljon would not be so repelled by their proposition and plan. Turning back to Rickon, he nodded.

Rickon’s brow crinkled and he said, “I thought Robb died.” He leaned forward, studying Robb closely. “I guess you look like you died.” Robb pretended it didn’t hurt, as he often did. 

The woman pinched him. “Don’t be cruel. He seems to have been returned to us living by the gods. That is a gift.”

Davos spoke then and said, “The gods have cursed him too… he cannot talk.”

Robb nodded slowly, looking at Rickon closely, studying his face as the boy studied his. Rickon’s eyes had turned that beautiful Stark steel-grey, just like their father’s, so unlike Robb’s or even Jon’s. Robb had eyes like Catelyn, as did Sansa. Arya and Rickon, however, had eyes just like Ned. He missed his father terribly and felt suddenly comforted by the fact Rickon was too young to really remember him or their mother. It is a pity to lose your parents so young, but a blessing to be spared from missing them so desperately like Robb.

Rickon reached out then and touched his face, fingers tracing the crinkles at his eyes and touching his lank curls. He smiled a little and said, “Our lady-mother had hair like this.”

Robb gave him a watery smile then, nodding. He wanted so badly to speak then, the desire to do so consuming him entirely. Unable to stop himself, he reached forward and folded Rickon into his arms, feeling relief when the boy returned the gesture. Robb nuzzled his face into Rickon’s wild brown hair, breathing him in for the first time in years. Distantly, he wondered what came of Bran, and Arya, and Sansa, and all of the lost parts of his family and soul, scattered across the continent.

He pulled away then, overcome, and looked at the woman. She sighed, dropping the apple she was carving, and announced, “My name is Osha. I’ve been with him and Bran for a while.” The look on Robb’s face urged her on. “Bran went with Hodor and the Reed children on their own journey. He is safe, I’m sure of it.”

Robb blinked and nodded, trying to remember if Howland ever mentioned his children traveling north. He knew with certainty he did not, and he made note to send a letter to Howland, updating him on everything and the whereabouts of his children.

Smalljon spoke up then, his voice tentative, “Osha was a wildling. She’s loyal to the Starks now.” Robb turned in time to see him give a furtive glance to Karsi, who was looking closely at Osha as if she could place her clan. He stood up and walked over, gesturing to Karsi.

She nodded and stepped forward, speaking with calmness yet surety. “My name is Karsi. I am from the Frozen Shore north of the Wall, along with my two daughters Johnna and Willa. I am here with King Robb to negotiate.”

Robb watched what seemed to be a hundred emotions flicker across Smalljon’s face before he settled on a mixture of contempt and resignation. As he opened his mouth, his eyes looking tight and angry, Robb moved forward once more. He pulled out the letter he prepared and handed it to Smalljon, who took it warily.

After subtle urging, Smalljon unfolded it. He cleared his throat slightly and began. “‘You pledged once to follow me as your king, from that day until your last day. I am sound of mind and strong in body and spirit. My desire for vengeance lives on for my enemies and I hope you do not become one. I am the King in the North and you will hear me this. I no longer make decisions lightly, however nor will I accept betrayal from my bannermen, of which I still consider you one. The man and woman I have in my company I trust with my life, a gift I do not extend gladly nor easily. The man before you is Davos Seaworth, the Hand of Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of the Six Kingdoms, and the woman is Karsi, a spearwife and elder chieftan among the Free Folk clans. They have united in fear against what is beyond the Wall and I stand with them as I stand with the living. I do not fear death, but I do fear the death of those I love. That is why I am here and that is why you will do as I say. I am Robb Stark, King in the North, returned from the dead to protect the North from those who would harm it, and that is what I will do until I rest once more.’”

The hall, which had stilled as Smalljon began reading, was frozen as people stared and tittered in equal parts awe and fear at Robb as he remained motionless, eyes glued to the Lord of Last Hearth. Smalljon slowly rolled the parchment back up and held it in his fist, his eyes staring at Robb’s feet. He turned then and looked closely at Karsi, his face unreadable. There must have been something he saw that reached him, however, because he turned back to Robb and swallowed thickly. His eyes, Robb realized, were brimming with tears.

Suddenly, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and laid it at Robb’s feet. On command, the rest of the men in the hall raised their swords and Smalljon fell to a knee.

In a watery, quiet tone, he said, “You might recall I was the first to call you king on that fateful day all those years ago. I saw it in you then and when you died, it felt like the North shattered. It felt like all the souls who lived for you died, even if they still walked among us. I never lost faith in the Starks, but… you are a sight to see.” His eyes met Robb’s then as he picked his head back up. A tear had rolled down his cheek and he nodded. “You are my king. From this day until my last day. I will do as you say because, my king, my faith in you is as unwavering and unmovable as the Wall itself.”

A voice behind him, Robb knew not where, shouted, “The King in the North!” He was suddenly thrown back to that day Smalljon referenced, one Robb remembered well, and he missed his mother so much he could have howled. Looking at Smalljon’s face as the chants sounded off around them, he knew the lord was remembering her as well, and he stood then, picking his sword up and sheathing it. The two shook arms, grasping one another’s closely, and he said quietly, “You knew you had me with Osha.”

Robb smiled then, a toothless sight, and the two shared a dark chuckle. As Robb pulled away and observed the people who swore new fealty to him, he pondered the circumstances the North had found itself in. _The world has changed_ , Davos had said to him when they stopped by a freezing pond coming south. They had been watching as a bird went after the fish who teased the surface, the bird unable to make a catch. Davos’ tone was somber with no real trace of hope in it. At Robb’s questioning gaze, Davos continued, just as quiet, watching as Karsi caught a fish with ease, _Any decisions you make from now on will affect the future more than you can control. Make sure you make the right ones._ Any snide gestures Robb would have made concerning this always being the case were silence, as Davos turned his weathered face and heavy eyes on him. _Right doesn’t always mean_ your _right, Your Grace. Right doesn’t always mean you win._ At the time, Robb grew distracted by Karsi catching yet another fish for dinner, distantly pleased she and Davos will be able to eat well, but as he watched the bird from before missing its fish over-and-over, stopped by seemingly fate itself, he tried not to quiver.

Smalljon gestured to Rickon then, bringing Robb back to the present, and said beneath the din of the hall, “Your brother’s wolf is still alive and well, too. He’s in Rickon’s room, as he scares my other residents, but still, he is with us.”

As if waiting for his cue, Grey Wind moved from the shadows of the hall, alarming the guests who did not know of his presence. Ignoring them, Grey Wind moved toward Rickon, who eagerly jumped up and ran to the ever-bigger direwolf. Watching the two pounce around each other made Robb’s heart twinge, the lost years of Rickon’s youth – and his own – hitting him suddenly with the weight of a thousand eons. Robb felt old, it’s true. He felt constant aches in his body, centering mostly in his gut and neck, and he could barely eat and sleep to soothe them. Drink affected him little anymore and he did not want to be off his guard anyway – paranoia followed him everywhere he went.

Sensing his discomfort and sadness, Grey Wind turned back from Rickon and nosed at Robb’s hand, encouraging his touch. _Always my companion,_ Robb thought fondly, feeling so desperately grateful he had survived the conflict with Robb.

Smalljon came into his view and said quietly, “Your wolf is much bigger than Shaggydog’s, I’ll admit, Your Grace.”

Grimacing, Robb nodded and gestured to Grey Wind to disappear back where he came from. The wolf loyally left, nosing at Rickon before he went. Karsi appeared then, extracting herself from a conversation with Osha. “Robb, perhaps we should rest?”

“Robb?” came Smalljon’s stricken reply. Robb resisted laughing, knowing it was a gruesome sight, and held a hand out to steady Smalljon. It had the opposite affect and instead made the lord flinch. Robb quickly shook his greying hand out of view and shook his head, trying to look as warm and welcoming as possible. He looked at Davos and Karsi, who both looked amused.

Davos spoke up and said, “Karsi has all the respect in the world for Robb Stark, but she is no, uh, kneeler, so forgive her lack of use in titles and, well, kneeling.”

At this, Karsi just shrugged, a joyful, amused smile on her face at Smalljon’s flustering. Robb observed the lot of them with no small amount of amusement himself.

* * *

Alone in his room, graciously provided for him by Smalljon, Robb was able to sit and think about the next steps of their plans and negotiations over the Gift for the Free Folk. He stared thoughtfully at the map on the table before him. Continuing his markings and movement of figurines, he neglected to notice a knock at his door until it was extremely loud and the echoing voice of Smalljon came with it.

Walking over to the door, he allowed Smalljon entry. The two moved back to the desk he had been sitting at and took seats of their own, the room quiet. Robb watched as Smalljon eyed the board with no small amount of trepidation, but Smalljon’s face betrayed none of his feelings.

Eventually, after touching the map and analyzing what he saw there, Smalljon said, his eyes not moving from it, “I wonder what they will say about me in the future. The first Lord of Last Hearth to let wildlings live on his land.”

Robb felt his shoulders drop from their tense position and he moved his hand to put it on Smalljon’s. The man froze under his touch at first, but then feigned a relaxed posture. Distantly, Robb wished he could communicate with Smalljon like he could with Jon. Instead, Robb waited until Smalljon lifted his head up, and once he did, Robb furrowed his brow and looked at him as imploringly as he could.

Sensing some notion of what Robb wanted to say, Smalljon’s lip ticked upward and he said, in his warm, gruff tone, “And you will be the only King in the North to see it happen.” He put his arms on the table, folding them underneath his form as he leaned forward. “If you’re sure about this… threat,” he said, gesturing to the Wall and the blank white figurine beyond it, “then I’m sure about it, too. I will not allow you to be harmed by betrayal again, certainly not by me. I’m just not sure how much I can actually help, when the time comes to fight.”

Nodding sagely, Robb moved forward more and put his other hand on Smalljon’s fist, feeling the man begin to genuinely relax. Smalljon’s promise of loyalty moved Robb and comforted him greatly, the lingering fear of betrayal following him wherever he went. The two sat in pensive, warm silence for the next hour, occasionally speaking and gesturing about what lay on the table in front of them. Robb made note of Smalljon’s desire to keep the wildlings sequestered toward Queenscrown and at the base of the mountains. Remembering Karsi’s comments about the way wildlings live, he acquiesced, allowing the wildling figurines to be moved toward that way and away from the open plains of the east.

Smalljon left soon after that, promises of a good meal tomorrow to break fast. Robb didn’t have the heart to communicate that he did not really eat anymore so he let him go with a smile and left that problem for tomorrow. _Davos and Karsi will enjoy it_ , he thought, shoving his wolf bodily over to the side from where he had discreetly been dozing in the furs. As he lay down, he wondered distantly what was happening with Jon. There was no real way to communicate with him, he knew, so the best he could do was hope and wait for news through Karsi.

* * *

He knew it was a dream. Logically, it did not quite make sense, as he watched his younger brother stand before him, hair longer than before and eyes darker, too. _Bran?_ Robb heard himself ask, startling himself by his use of his voice.

Bran did not respond. Robb realized he was not quite looking at Robb either, looking through him instead. He turned to see what Bran was staring at so intently and he realized they were standing in a clearing, forested, but not with northern trees. Robb looked closer at the distant image of what he realized was his little sister, Arya, and a hulking man with a burn on the side of his face. The two seemed to be bickering and Robb placed the location to the Riverlands. His heart leapt as the man grabbed Arya by the shoulder, forcing her around, but he stood straight again when he saw his wild, feisty sister throw the hand off and yell something, storming off. To his surprise, the man didn’t look irritated, but only distantly fond. He followed after Arya after a moment.

When Robb turned back to look at Bran for answers, the boy was staring at him with those same dark eyes. As Robb moved closer, he realized he had trouble remembering if Bran’s eyes were naturally this dark or if they were more Stark grey. Just as he reached out to touch his brother after so long, the vision vanished, and Robb awoke.

Sitting up, he looked out to the window to see it was still dark, but Robb decided he had certainly had enough sleep for the night. He sat on the edge of his bed, listening to Grey Wind's snores, and thought about the Arya he saw in his dream along with Bran. _Is Arya safe?_ he wondered, trying to place the trees and any possible signifiers he had made note of. Now that he was awake and cognizant, he realized he knew the man was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, but last he knew, the man was an agent of the Lannisters. _There is a lot I don’t know of these kingdoms,_ Robb thought to himself, watching the dying embers of the pointless fireplace crackle. 

* * *

After hours of sitting and thinking in the dark, and then hours of feigning normalcy as everyone pretended they didn’t notice Robb barely ate and barely slept and didn’t talk, Robb found himself sitting with Davos, Smalljon, and Karsi in the hall. Robb was in the midst of listening to Davos’ story about his worst attempt at smuggling when he grabbed some parchment left for him and wrote something for Smalljon.

The lord took it at his gesturing and read aloud, “’What is happening elsewhere in Westeros?’ That’s a mighty big question, isn’t it?” He asked, guffawing enough to make Karsi and Davos chuckle too. Robb fought the angry heat in his gut at being laughed at and stared at him. Noticing his tension, Smalljon put it down and sighed, sitting forward.

“I don’t know what you know. But the most recent major events since your, uh, death are worth noting, I suppose.” Robb gestured for him to continue. “Well, King Joffrey died. He was murdered at his own wedding. Poison, they said. Sansa and Tyrion, they also said. You know your sister better than any – who knows if she was capable of it?”

A sick sort of satisfaction warmed Robb then, his pleasure at the prospect unable to stay off his face. He stared at Smalljon, urging him on for more details. Smalljon held his hands up in defeat and added, “We don’t know any more details up here. Perhaps elsewhere they do… you said you knew Howland Reed, maybe he’d know more.”

Robb nodded, making note of yet another thing to add in that letter he meant to send ages ago. He looked at Smalljon some more. The man chuckled, fond.

“This might be even more pleasing to you, Your Grace. Tywin Lannister is dead as well. No one is sure quite what happened, well, maybe down south they are, but as far as I know, it’s possible it was Tyrion Lannister, as the imp disappeared right after it, but who really knows? That whole family is fucked to all Seven Hells, I say.” Robb whole-heartedly agreed. The sick pleasure rolling through him doubled at the sound of his killer being murdered, allowing his shoulders to ease their tension. A part of him wished he was the one to do it, another part of him wished he had at least watched, and the final part of him, the part that missed his mother the most, felt calm and quietly relieved at last.

_Once the Freys are eliminated, my murder will finally be avenged_ , Robb thought, moments before writing it down for Smalljon’s acknowledgment. The man seemed vaguely unsettled by the words in front of him but read them aloud regardless. Karsi nodded in agreement, a fist gently pounding the table, while Davos looked on at Robb with vague, fatherly disapproval.

He spoke then and said, “Vengeance isn’t always the answer, Your Grace.” Davos watched as Robb scribbled something else, taking the paper from him a moment later. In the quiet of the hall, Davos read aloud, “It will be for me.”

* * *

As negotiations and planning began to come to completion at Last Hearth, Robb’s mind wandered back north where Jon was tackling the Hardhome crisis. He hoped all was well, but the sinking feeling in his gut when he remembered his dream kept him from peace.

Jon’s empty, lifeless eyes stared at him every time he closed his own for rest, keeping him from what minimal sleep he otherwise got. There were no other details in his dream, only the heartbreaking, horrifying sight of yet another one of Robb’s loved ones laying back on the ground with knife wounds littering their torso. Once more, Robb was forced to witness his failure to protect his own. Once more, Robb was alone.

With a hand on Grey Wind's big head, the tired king watched the courtyard bustle with activity, as lumber was prepared to send ahead up north for use of the Free Folk. In exchange, Karsi agreed, they would ravage the forests out of the reach of Last Hearth’s hunters and hand over some of the game they captured. Karsi insisted the wildlings were better hunters than the kneelers were, and Robb was inclined to agree, remembering the savage, animalistic fighting style Jon told him about from their battle on the Wall. Smalljon seemed reluctant, but acquiesced to the terms, allowing a fully-fledged trade deal to be negotiated between wildlings and kneelers.

Privately, Robb held his own plans for the North. While he was growing accustomed to the idea of peacefully allowing the Free Folk to live in his lands and use his resources, he was also growing eager for battle. It had been a long time since Robb had seen the battlefield and fought in the war. The bloodlust that simmered under his skin often scared him enough to quiet it, pretend it wasn’t there, but it had grown exponentially since he began to strive for peace.

Karsi sensed it, naturally. She had gone hunting with him the day before and looked the other way as Robb and Grey Wind took turns hacking at and biting at, respectively, their kill. It wasn’t enough, however – the more Robb reflected on the going-ons of the kingdoms, the more he lusted for his own vengeance.

He had spent the previous night reviewing the map of Westeros and focusing more on the South. He knew by then that Joffrey and Tywin were dead, but he also knew Tommen was next in line, and that the boy had no business being in the game of thrones. Certainly, now that Tywin, Joffrey, and also Tyrion were gone, there would be no one to stop Cersei Lannister from scheming and controlling the boy how she desired. Rumors had floated up north to Smalljon of Cersei’s treatment of Sansa and her manipulation of the events of the War of the Five Kings.

Robb had suspected as much, with the help of Maester Luwin, when that letter from Sansa arrived all those moons ago. The girl Robb left behind had her head in the clouds and often suffocated from her own naivete, but he knew she could manage. He only fretted how well she was managing. Margaery Tyrell, according to the reports sent North, was a schemer herself, regardless how much she was kind to his sister.

However, Robb’s thoughts were consumed by Sansa mostly because reports of her officially being missing had finally found his ears. With that, all of the Starks were on record as being scattered and lost. Bran was somewhere beyond the Wall, details of his journey remaining scant from Osha. Rickon, while safe with him and Smalljon at the Last Hearth, was dead, so far as Westeros was concerned. Arya had been lost for years at that point, but Robb knew with unwavering surety that she was alive and well, especially following that dream he had of her with the Hound. Jon was sequestered away at the Wall, not considered a threat to the kingdoms whatsoever, particularly concerning his bastard status. And now Sansa was missing, but Robb had faith in his sister’s brevity and wit. _She is our mother’s daughter, after all_ , he thought fondly, no small amount of sadness in his heart.

As for him, Smalljon assured him the kingdoms still thought him dead. The Boltons had presumed control of the North, taking up residence in Winterfell’s halls, much to Robb’s violent distaste. Smalljon tried not to look disapproving as Robb viciously took to the training yard, hacking at a dummy once the other trainees backed away. _It’s not to be helped,_ Robb heard him explain to a guard quietly afterwards. That caused him to clench his fist in equal parts fury and embarrassment at his own loss of control. _It’s not to be helped,_ he thought sarcastically to himself.

Distantly, Robb wondered what came of Theon Greyjoy. The man was once a brother to him as much as Jon was – _not quite the same,_ he thought to himself with a sick lurch. He hoped, meanly, that all of Theon’s wildest fantasies of being accepted by his family came true. Robb, with no small amount of desperate sadness, remembered thinking without a shadow of a doubt that Theon was his family, hoping the man had thought the same. _Clearly not,_ Robb thought, watching as Rickon played with Shaggydog by the kennel. 

As if hearing him, Rickon looked up at Robb and smiled, waving. Robb gave him a tight-lipped smile and small wave in return, watching as the boy held up a leather ball he was playing catch with. Robb nodded, gesturing for Rickon to throw it. As the boy did, Shaggydog raced after it. Chuckling to himself, Robb threaded his fingers through Grey Wind’s soft fur, seemingly feeling the wolf’s gratefulness that he didn’t have to play silly games like that. Regardless, Shaggydog returned with the ball and Rickon took it, looking up at Robb for approval, or joy.

Robb gave him another small smile and clapped quietly, watching as Rickon laughed and did it again. He turned his eyes then to Karsi, who was watching the whole thing with Osha to the side. They met eyes and he pretended not to see the soft fondness in her face from across the courtyard. He turned away then and walked off the balcony, heading back to his room.

As he sat at his desk, quill hovering over parchment, he wondered about Jon again. The anxious feeling grew every day in the pit of his stomach. There was no word yet about how things had fared. Robb had made Jon or, in the absence of Jon, Stannis promise to send notice. While Robb wrote back to the Wall to inform Stannis of the positive negotiations between himself and Smalljon, he had received nothing back.

Hence, his follow-up letter. Thus far, he had informed Stannis of further proceedings and plans, hoping that the greying king was amenable to his own private ideas about what to do concerning the Boltons. Before, Robb made noise about having them executed once Stannis assumed the Southern throne and he took back his title himself, but now that they were supposedly Wardens of the North, that plan had to be thought out again.

Before rolling it up, he added a small note asking: _Send notice of what is happening with Jon._ Part of him thought to add “ _And Tormund and the other Free Folk_ ” but he knew Stannis would see through it. As he attached the letter to a raven and sent it off, he watched as the clouds rolled in with the threat of snow, and pondered the days growing darker as well. _Winter is coming,_ he thought grimly as a knock sounded at the door.

Heading to it, he opened it and welcomed Karsi inside. As they sat, she mentioned Davos and Smalljon were discussing preparations for their return to the Wall. Karsi made it known she felt they should have left sooner, but they did not listen to her. With that same feeling of dread, and thoughts of Jon, he couldn’t help but agree now.

“I came to tell you that some man named Littlefinger returned to the Vale and some woman named Lysa Arryn died shortly thereafter. It sounds pretty suspicious to me, but what do I know?” She was carving an apple as she spoke, her tone far more blasé than the news demanded.

Robb grabbed some parchment and wrote: _Lysa Arryn was my mother’s sister. Her husband Jon’s death is what started all of this._

Karsi only nodded, seemingly not understanding or caring for the gravity of the situation. She gestured for him to explain further and he sighed, not particularly in the mood to write out everything. Instead, he added: _Littlefinger is not to be trusted. Anything else?_

With a distant look, Karsi nodded after taking a bite. “He had some girl with him. Apparently, some bastard of his. Alayne, I think.” She didn’t notice Robb’s furrowed brow and continued on, “Anyways, he got away with it, and now he’s heading North. That’s the important thing. Or, at least, rumors _say_ he’s heading North.”

Robb didn’t need to write down his thought of _Why would he do that?_ Karsi’s face told him she knew and she sighed, letting her hands rest for a moment. “I knew we should have left sooner.”

He agreed more than ever. Littlefinger moving North didn’t bode well regardless, but certainly not since his resurrection and attempts to keep it quiet until the best possible moment. Robb was afraid suddenly that someone at Last Hearth had said something, but if they had, it was too late. Still, Robb made note to let his fury known with Smalljon at the possible betrayal, as the lord had promised him protection and loyalty until his last day.

Robb sat in silence as Karsi told him about the preparations. Privately, he was thinking about how much Littlefinger had done in actuality to his family. He knew of the man’s creepy obsession with his mother, as they all had. At the time, it was funny – his mother was loyal to his father and they loved each other. That irked Littlefinger more than anything and it was easy to brush him off then. As time went on, however, and the War of the Five Kings unfolded day-by-day, Robb found Littlefinger less funny. Now, in retrospect, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much Lord Petyr Baelish had to do with his family’s repeated shortcomings and downfalls.

With a heavy gut, Robb wondered again, _Why is he coming to the North?_

* * *

Robb awoke the night before they left with a piercing, stabbing feeling of grief in his heart. He rushed over to the basin by the corner to throw water on his face, letting the cold water and cold air from the window wake him properly. He sat heavily down on the chair by the window and tried to recall the details, rubbing absently at his chest.

The man in his dream was faceless, almost bodiless. The only thing Robb processed were the seven stab wounds in his form as he stood, motionless, soulless, lifeless. He tried desperately to discern who it was, but nothing came to him. A knock sounded suddenly on his door and Robb stood, grabbing his robe to cover himself, still rubbing at his chest. It felt like he had an open, gaping hole there.

He opened the door and saw Davos in his own robe holding up an opened scroll. Robb grabbed at it and Davos handed it over, saying, “Sorry to have opened it, Your Grace, but I recognize Stannis’ writing anywhere. He said Hardhome was a success… sort of.”

Robb read the words himself with equal parts hope and dread. _The trip to Hardhome was… successful. Some of the wildlings passed through the Wall. They will head toward the land you indicated. Our group returned with few casualties. However, there was a massacre before they could all leave. A hundred thousand wildlings were killed by an Army of the Dead, they all swear. I’m inclined to believe them. You will be, too. Return with haste. Stannis. Also, Jon is fine._

The words were chilling. _A hundred thousand, dead?_ Robb looked at Davos, feeling helpless and untethered. The man ushered Robb to sit down and sighed as he sat beside him.

“Aye, it’s a horrifying prospect. A hundred thousand wildlings, murdered by, what, the dead? It’s not a pretty picture, but Stannis believes only the truth. It must be so.”

Robb looked at the note again, his finger touching the words _Jon is fine._ The gaping, grieflike feeling in his chest refused to abate, however, and he rubbed it again. Davos made a noise of concern and Robb shook his head, not feeling eager to share. He knew he should inform someone about his prophetic, vivid dreams, but his situation was unprecedented. He didn’t even know if anyone could help. _Melisandre might,_ he thought drily.

Robb handed the note over after transcribing it for himself and gestured in what he hoped told Davos to tell Karsi. It must have worked, as he nodded and said he’d wake Karsi promptly. Robb privately felt Davos should have told her first. He can’t imagine her grief when she finds out how many of her kin died to the very threat she came here to protect them from. He hoped she wasn’t angry with her choice to come here rather than go to Hardhome. Robb didn’t know what he would do if he lost Karsi, at this point.

It was barely an hour later that Karsi and Davos showed at his door once more, with Smalljon as well. Karsi’s eyes were red, but her face was hard. Davos looked empathetic while Smalljon looked afraid. Robb supposed he had finally been let in on what precisely the threat was. The four of them sat in the quiet and discussed what was next. Robb noticed Smalljon’s tenderness toward Karsi and, despite the cold ache lingering in his torso, felt his heart warm at the love Lord Umber developed for the wildlings in his castle. 

He only hoped the rest of the North would grow to feel the same.

* * *

News came of a marriage in the Bolton family. Shortly after that, news came of the death of Roose Bolton. Once more, Robb felt his need for vengeance quenched. Once more, he felt his bloodlust grow, as he was not the one to do it. He would have given anything in the world to be the one to shove a dagger into Roose Bolton’s ribcage, as they man had done to him. Everyone avoided him the day that particular news rolled in.

Robb was concerned about the woman tied to Ramsey Bolton, however. No more news had come of his siblings, but he had another dream – this time about Sansa. She was wearing white, walking slowly and fearfully through the Godswood in Winterfell. He didn’t know to whom she was walking to at the time, and he still didn’t know for sure, but a sick, fearful part of him was sure it was Ramsey. Davos had to convince him not to ride down to Winterfell then, reminding him of his duties at the Wall.

The trip back to the Wall was hasty. They did not stop for pleasant walks, satisfying hunts, or good conversation. Their horses were exhausted by the time the Wall was in sight, but they pressed on still. It hurt Robb to say goodbye to Rickon so quickly and so distractedly, but the urgency to return back to the Wall had grown since the letter’s arrival.

The sense of doom and dread began to suffocate Robb as they took the road up to the front gates. While the Wall and its gate looked unchanged from the outside, he couldn’t keep his shaking hands on the rein properly. The guards looked down at them as they finally came to a halt and looked unsure. Robb was in no mood for whatever game they were playing, and he looked to Davos for assistance.

In a surprisingly booming and firm voice, Davos announced, “It is the King in the North returned. Open the damn gate!”

Slowly, they did so, and the courtyard quieted as they entered. Robb looked around with an ever-growing sense of fear, noting everyone’s shifty looks and wary postures. He dismounted and looked for a familiar face. He found a few, but none of them looked eager to talk.

Davos moved toward him and asked across the courtyard, “Where is King Stannis?”

Robb did not care where King Stannis was. Regardless, someone pointed with a shaking finger up at a room that was being clearly guarded. With a furrowed brow, Davos looked back at Robb who was staring with a hard gaze at the guard up there. _Dolorous Edd,_ his mind reminded him. The two of them made their way up there, with Karsi and Grey Wind following closely behind.

Edd looked both relieved and afraid as they came to a halt before him. With a swallow, he said quietly, “Brace yourselves for what’s in here.” As he opened the door, he looked at Robb as steadily as he could clearly manage, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Your Grace.”

His eyes widening and the hole in his chest gaping once more, Robb pushed open the door and rushed in. He came to a stop as he watched Stannis standing over a body on a table. To his right sat Melisandre, looking weary. They both looked at Robb and stood straighter. Melisandre’s face turned into something broken and apologetic while Stannis’ had an uncharacteristic amount of pity and regret. Choking on his dread, Robb moved forward, and once Ghost stepped out of the way, his heart stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhh sorry
> 
> the plot to this story changes every chapter i write. because of this, i'm sure some stuff makes you go ?????? but, you know, it is what it is, we're all just here to love robb, as long as jon/robb is endgame who cares, etc etc
> 
> let’s will this fic into existence together. i’m honest to god not sure where i’m going with it aside from vague plotlines i’d like to meet, but reading your ideas thus far and what you like and respond to is helpful. we’re all just here to love robb and jon/robb so let’s channel that energy and see where this ride takes us


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Stark miracles occur - will a price have to be paid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. well,

The room was silent and still; no one was willing to speak nor move. Robb felt his pulse pounding in his ears as he stared at Jon’s greying, lifeless form. He felt as if his body moved of its own accord as he approached the corpse, taking in the torso littered with _seven knife wounds._ Robb fell to his knees then, his chin resting on the table as his hands reached out to touch the cold, soulless body in front of him. He rubbed at his face and barely noticed the tears pouring out of him then, his mind consumed with his own idiocy at not reading the signs.

_I should have been here,_ Robb thought desperately, his eyes raking over Jon’s dull curls and pale skin. _I should have been with you._ He became consumed with cursing himself and grieving yet another lost loved one, he neglected to notice Stannis and Melisandre moving from the room. Distantly, he thought he heard Stannis explain he was the one to find Jon in the courtyard, seemingly stabbed by his supposed brothers. The malice in Stannis’ tone was no match for the vengeful fury that was bubbling in Robb then.

The king made to get up and act on it, but something in the air told him to remain where he was, remain seated by Jon’s side. So he sat, reverent and still, holding Jon’s grey, lifeless hand in his own and staring at his face. Robb lost hours sitting there, ignoring everyone and their attempts to make him move from his vigil by Jon’s side. _I should have been by his side,_ he told himself, over and over, torturing himself for hours. He grew so consumed by his kingdom that he had lost sight of the one thing that truly mattered to him anymore.

Robb’s mind swam with promises of love to Jon, wishful thoughts and would-be memories of the time they should have had together. In the wake of Jon’s death, a sentiment that choked Robb to tears again and again, he indulged his basest, most private desires and dreamed of a life they could have had, in another time. Robb would have made Jon his consort – they would have ruled the North together. Robb could have moved South and erased the entire Lannister family from existence, going so far as to conquer all Seven Kingdoms in his quest for his family’s revenge. _This world has not been kind to us,_ he thought, moving a hand to stroke Jon’s grey cheek.

At some point, Melisandre tried to tell him she tried to resurrect Jon with the power of her god, but Robb brushed it off. He knew the cost and randomness of resurrection more keenly than any and a withering glare sent her way informed her of this sentiment. Sheepishly, she nodded, and sat vigil with him for a while.

She spoke again an hour in. “I thought I might try a different ritual, now that you’re here.” Her tone was timid and as Robb’s eyes flashed to her, she cowered. He didn’t disagree, however, and she moved to grab some twine that she said was soaked in a particular mixture. As she tied his and Jon’s hands together with the twine, she gestured to a cup by her and explained, “It is the tea of weirwood leaves, the ashes of ironwood, the water of a river beyond the Wall, and the blood of the deceased. I found the mixture in a book about old Northern magic. I figure… all magic is connected, somehow. It was worth a shot.”

Hesitating, she finished tying the thread and held the cup to Robb. He stared at her and she said quietly, “Take a sip. If it doesn’t work, at least we will have tried.”

He acquiesced. It was a disgusting mixture, but he couldn’t deny it made him feel better having tried, watching as she dropped some in Jon’s mouth and began to speak in what he recognized as the Old Tongue. For good measure, she touched both of them and spoke in her own language as well. When he gave her a questioning look, she did not explain. She departed shortly thereafter, looking forlorn at yet another failed attempt. 

Before she closed the door, she turned and said with tears in her eyes, “I wish the two of you had more time. What I was saying in Old Tongue was… well, it was a prayer to your gods, asking why they would bring you back if not for life. What is life for a king, without the ability to speak to his people, go to war for his land, and have a consort he loves?”

Robb thought she was foolish. He bristled at her knowledge of his feelings for Jon and she clearly noticed, her face ashen as she quickly closed the door behind her. He felt a vague sense of tingling guilt at his meanness. As he looked down at Jon, he privately found himself agreeing with her.

He sat there for hours, a hand propping up his head on his uncomfortable chair. Grey Wind and Ghost were by the fire, as they always were in the day since his return. The rest of Castle Black was asleep, the execution of Jon’s killers set for the morning. Alliser Thorne had been one of them, Stannis informed him, along with the child Olly. Robb ignored him as well, deciding against showing his desire to cut the child’s head off himself and feed his corpse to his wolf. _I should have known_ , remembering the strange, wary gaze of the boy down the hallway all those weeks before.

As Robb finally turned from staring at Jon to eye the wolves, he noticed Ghost pick his head up and stare at Jon. Grey Wind did as well then and Robb turned his own head and stared at the corpse before him. He noticed, suddenly, that the hand that was in his had grown warm. Robb stood up from his stool and took a step back, watching as Jon’s fingers began to twitch, then his body, and then-

A gasp echoed around the room. Robb watched in fear and awe as Jon began to take in heavy breaths, drawing in as much air as possible, before sitting up. Robb rushed to grab a robe by the door and moved back to the table, putting it around Jon’s shoulders and coming close to him.

Jon didn’t seem to have any idea where he was. He blinked wildly as he took in his surroundings and grabbed blindly at the robe around him, his hand catching on Robb’s. After moments of fussing and confusion, Jon finally turned his head to look at Robb. 

The two sat in still silence before Robb finally said, “We Starks are hard to kill.”

The reaction was immediate. Robb’s hand flew to his neck, gripping it tightly in wonder. Jon’s own face looked bemused and horrified both, his hands coming up to grab at Robb before he stared at them in fear. He was still quite grey and cold, Robb acknowledged, and he watched as Jon looked down at his arms and then his chest before fearfully touching the open knife wounds there. The man began to hyperventilate before Robb reached out to pull him in. Jon allowed himself to be folded into Robb’s arms as he attempted to soothe him.

The door opened then, and Melisandre appeared, clearly having run there. Her face as she stepped in was filled with wonder and awe. Robb stared at her, feeling his own wonder and awe, watching as she approached them carefully, a hand extended to hold a lantern.

She spoke then, in a hushed tone, “I dreamt he woke. I had to come see. I cannot believe…” She reached out to touch Jon, but Robb moved out of her reach. Understanding flitted across Melisandre’s face as she took her hand back, choosing instead to simply stare.

Tentatively, Robb croaked, “You did this.” Her eyes widened further at the sound of his voice, unheard-of by her. She seemingly could not help the smile that spread across her face, making her look surprisingly human and warm. Robb thought distantly it was a relief to see.

She turned to go back to the door, clearly eager to inform everyone, but Robb said, “No!” His voice was awful to hear, the sound screeching through the room with a horribly deep and dark pitch. He distantly hoped it would improve with use. The woman froze at his voice and turned to look at him, fear obvious in her posture and gaze.

Robb swallowed and said quieter, “Not yet.” Melisandre relaxed and nodded, seemingly frozen in place, her gaze on the floor.

Jon made a noise then and Robb turned to look at him, finding him staring fondly yet lost at Robb. His hand came up, shaking and cold, to touch the side of Robb’s face, the two of them locked in a stare. Robb’s arm had not moved from around Jon’s back, but his other came to grip the hand sitting in Jon’s lap, holding him tightly to him. Jon’s thumb stroked his cheek and he whispered, “I never thought I’d see you again. Robb, Hardhome…”

Robb whispered as gently as he could manage, “I heard.”

Jon shook his head then, his eyes welling with tears and grief filling his features. “You don’t understand. I saw him. I saw the Night King. He raised an entire Army of the Dead with his arms, like it was nothing. I saw it, Robb. He looked right at me.”

The words were chilling. Robb felt like he could see it, closed his eyes as he watched the scene play out before him. The sight of a hundred thousand massacred wildlings littering the shore of the Frozen Shore, all of them snapping their eyes open and revealing icy blue underneath. He felt cold as he lived Jon’s experience, watching as the icy, tall figure of the Night King connect his eyes with him as his hands came up to stand the dead upright. Robb’s eyes opened and the vision shattered. He stared at Jon, his own body gripped with fear and terror. 

Finally, Robb broke their gaze and looked to Melisandre, who he noticed had not moved. He quirked an eyebrow and Melisandre looked confused and disturbed. She said quietly, “I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?” 

Frowning, Robb stared at her in confusion. He quietly replied, his voice still grating to the ears, “Wake Stannis. Only Stannis.”

Melisandre nodded once and moved to do so, closing the door quietly behind her. Robb turned his attention back to Jon who was staring at him still.

“Tell me what happened.”

Jon sighed, his whole body slumping with the effort, and began to speak. He quickly relayed a tale about being tricked into the courtyard on the promise of his uncle’s return. He recounted seeing a sign that said traitor before feeling seven knives in his gut, one of them from a boy no older than Bran who he had trusted. Robb remembered once more seeing Olly’s face as they discussed with the Free Folk down the hall that one time and kept quiet. His vengeance would come in the morning, the rage bubbling inside him and threatening to choke him.

As Jon finished, his gaze showing confusion and despair, the door opened. Stannis appeared, his face apprehensive. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jon, pinking up from his moments breathing. Stannis motioned for food to be brought by Melisandre, who nodded and disappeared again, with a look sent back toward Robb. He couldn't determine why.

Stannis moved into the room, approaching Jon and Robb slowly. “You Starks have a habit of coming back. It’s a shame the same wasn’t true for your mother and father.” 

Robb looked incredulous then, insulted, while Jon simply sputtered quietly. Stannis shook his head and held out a hand.

“I mean no disrespect. It is a shame, but…” He trailed off, listening as a knock sounded at the door. He opened it slowly before allowing Melisandre entry with a loaf of bread. He continued as she handed the food over to Jon, who ripped into it. “If anyone in your family were to return, I’m thankful it was the King in the North and the Lord Commander.”

Jon’s eyes flashed at him as he viciously ripped off a piece of bread. “I’m not fucking Lord Commander anymore.”

Stannis smiled mirthlessly and said, “No, I suppose I wouldn’t want to be either.” His eyes flicked to Robb, noting their closeness, before he said, “I notice you retained your voice.”

Robb cleared his throat then and said, trying not to echo his awful voice too much, “Mine has returned.”

Stannis stood straighter then, after flinching momentarily, and nodded deeply at Robb, his body automatically tilting forward in an aborted bow motion. He went to speak, but Robb cut him off, relishing in the ability to finally do so suddenly.

“I don’t know why, so don’t ask.” 

“I won’t,” came Stannis quick and sure reply. His brow furrowed as he looked at Melisandre momentarily, who looked as bemused as him. Robb stared at the two of them, prepared to inquire further, but Jon coughed beside him and captured his attention once more.

The room was still as Jon ate, attempting to replenish some energy. Robb remained quiet as the three of them discussed what happened next. Stannis made mention of Robb being the one to execute the traitors the next day, which Robb took objection to.

“Jon will do it,” he said quietly, his hand gripping Jon’s tighter. While he didn’t want to relinquish this task to Jon, he knew it was right. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,_ his father’s voice echoed in his mind. As he gazed at Jon’s face, he knew the same words echoed in his. Jon nodded and whispered that he would before eating another spoonful of stew.

Hours later, when the sun rose and Jon appeared in the courtyard, Robb would begin to regret his decision. It warmed him, to his surprise, to see Edd and Tormund welcome Jon into their arms, but seeing the wary, fearful looks on the other brothers only made his rage grow again at the betrayal. Stannis came to stand next to him as they observed Jon’s reunion with the few he could trust.

Robb spoke quietly, “The next person who betrays me and my family will die by my sword.”

Stannis grew still beside him and nodded slowly, before saying in a quiet, strangled tone, “Of course.” Robb eyed him for a moment, watching the man look deeply unsettled, shuffling his feet, before his face became neutral once more. The air was thick with tension for some reason as they stood in silence, surveilling the courtyard closely. Robb ignored it then.

Later, however, as Stannis and Robb stood in the same spot to watch the execution of the traitors, the first seeds of suspicion and doubt were planted in his mind. As the bodies swung in the air by Jon’s side, his face a neutral mask, Robb had eyes only for the greying king beside him, whose own face betrayed a glimmer of unease.

* * *

Jon sat quietly in the mess hall that night with everyone poking at his stew, clearly lost in thought. Robb sat beside him, his eyes glancing at Jon periodically, checking to see if he was still there and breathing. Jon avoided his gaze, but Robb tried not to take it personally – he was avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room.

Across from them sat Tormund, who was giving Jon the same staring treatment. In fact, Robb realized as he glanced around them, everyone seemed to keep checking back on Jon, still in vague disbelief he was with them again. Robb realized that probably explained Jon’s reluctance to look up or speak, so Robb pushed his and Jon’s bowls away, flinching slightly at their scraping noises, and stood, extending his hand to Jon. The man glanced at it warily and then locked eyes with Robb, who implored him as best he could to take his hand so they could leave.

Jon did. His hand slid into Robb’s and the two moved toward the door, Robb’s other hand coming up to push gently on Jon’s lower back. The room grew still and silent as they moved and Robb glanced back at Tormund, who looked vaguely pleased, nodding deeply at Robb. He quirked an eyebrow then, trying to convey to the hulking wildling that he did not need his approval. The message must have been received, as Tormund quietly began to laugh.

The moment the door closed behind them and they stood once more in the courtyard, however, Jon let go of Robb’s hand and pushed him away. Confused, Robb reached out once more, but Jon rejected him, moving toward the stairwell that led to the Wall’s elevator. Robb followed him, determined, and the two stepped into the structure and let it carry them up in silence.

The doors opened and Jon stepped out, not holding it open for Robb as he moved quickly toward his preferred firepit. Regardless of his mood, Robb tailed after him, finally coming to a halt with a view beyond the Wall. One that still took Robb’s breath away but seeing it with Jon made it sweeter and realer than he could have imagined.

Jon spoke then, his gruff voice cutting through his thoughts. “You can’t take a hint?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, putting a hand on Jon’s arm to make sure Jon saw his look of deep irritation and disapproval. The glare and crossed arms Jon developed after his glance over told him the sentiment was understood.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Robb’s incredulity needed no voicing, as Jon interrupted himself only a second later to say, “I mean, of course you would. You more than anyone would understand. But you were alone after you woke up, you were able to be alone and… just think about it all.”

“I had Howland Reed,” Robb said quietly, trying not to scare Jon. His voice made everyone jump and go very still, two things he didn’t want to force on Jon. Thankfully, Jon did neither. 

“Who left you alone,” he said, his tone grumpy. Robb let loose a croaking sound that Jon knew was his laugh. Howland Reed never left Robb alone and it irked him every second he was at Greywater Watch. Jon gave a short huff and looked away, eyeing the horizon. “Alright, so he didn’t. I just…”

They were quiet as Jon thought through what he wanted to say. Robb knew what was going on in his mind, but he was hesitant to speak for the other man. 

“How do you do it?” Jon whispered, moving closer. Robb looked at him imploringly, urging him on as warmly as he could. “I don’t want to go to sleep tonight, for fear I won’t wake up again. I don’t want to sit in that hall with everyone, for fear I’ll be betrayed again. I don’t want to talk to anyone, for fear it’ll be used against me. I don’t want to do anything at all. But how can I not? When I’ve been given the gift of life, _again?_ ” 

Robb gave him a sad, bitter smile, gently putting an arm at Jon’s waist to pull him closer and tuck him into his side. The man moved willingly, his arms still crossed as he folded himself into Robb’s warm figure. As quiet and soft as he could manage, Robb spoke for the first time about how exactly he felt. 

“I don’t know what is happening inside your head, but in mine, it was angry and hateful. I was, and am, filled with so much fury. It tries to consume me. If I let it, it will. I relied on those who crossed my path because I had to, no more. I awoke a shadow of my former self, and I still am, do you understand me?”

He moved his head to look at Jon imploringly. The man was still, his body like a stone beside Robb, but he nodded slowly and blinked up at him, as if momentarily awoken from a daze. Robb continued.

“You will be betrayed again. As will I. It is in our blood, now, and it is the fate of the Starks. Our father was betrayed, all those years ago, and they took his head. My mother was betrayed, her throat cut moments before they mutilated mine. My wife, Stark by name, was betrayed, her child taken from her before her own life. Our sisters have been betrayed and now they run wild and afraid across this continent, lost. Our brothers were betrayed, by our own no less, Winterfell’s ward turning his back the first moment he saw.” 

The air was still. There was no wind to be felt as Robb spoke, nature itself pausing to listen to Robb’s truth. The man in question was staring into the distance, his eyes caught on the ice plains beyond the trees, imagining for a moment that the Army of the Dead was marching forward to claim him and Jon as their own. A final nail in the Stark coffin, he surmised. Even the family’s dead, or undead, will not rest.

“But we cannot live in fear. It is the living who fear _us_ , Jon. Do not forget that.”

“I won’t,” came Jon’s quick reply. His voice was a low whisper, a peculiar, airy note to it as he spoke. Robb looked down at him once more and found the man staring at him reverently, taken by his every word. His brow furrowed.

Paying little mind to the sudden turmoil in Robb’s head, Jon leaned forward and pressed his lips to Robb’s, moving his arms out of their crossed position to move them to Robb’s face. His hands were cold from the lack of gloves and the adjustment his body was making post-resurrection. Robb closed his eyes, opening his mouth and allowing himself the respite of Jon’s love.

He knew they had plenty to discuss, starting with the Free Folk themselves, to the Army of the Dead and this Night King, to Robb’s war movements, to their family, and to his suspicion from only moments before, but he ignored it all in that moment. _If I am undead and inhuman,_ Robb thought as he pushed Jon back against one of the icy battlements and moved his hands down his body, _so now is Jon._

The man opposite him seemed to be of the same mind, as he moved his hands to undo the laces at the front of Robb’s pants, reaching his hand in. Their coupling was far more desperate and rushed than Robb would have preferred, allowing Jon to pull his cock free and doing the same in return. It was as if Jon’s touch was fire and Robb had been cold all his life, his body moving to cover Jon’s entirely as he moved Jon’s hand to bring their cocks together as he stroked.

Their kiss had become open-mouthed and wet, breathing deeply with one another and reaching for a touch when it all became too much. Distantly, Robb knew it was impolite and crass to couple with his half-brother on top of the most impressive man-made structure in the world. However, Robb disregarded this as he heard the soft moans Jon was letting out and felt the man’s hands grip behind him, eagerly grabbing at everything he could reach.

As Robb approached his peak, he pulled back to stare at Jon intently. The man opened his eyes, hazy and dark, and met his. In a gruff tone, Robb uttered, “Come for me.”

It was miraculous to witness – against seemingly his own wishes, Jon followed suit. He frantically clung to Robb, letting the man move his mouth down to Jon’s neck as he licked and bit, giving Jon something else to focus on. Robb came only moments later, feeling Jon’s hand join his.

As they stood against one another, panting and trading lingering, tired kisses, he felt Jon’s smile on his lips. Robb pulled back and quirked an eyebrow.

“I guess I am as depraved as you, now.” Robb rolled his eyes, giving a small quirk of his lips as he moved to tuck them both away. It would do them no good to freeze their cocks off.

As they moved to sit, leaning against one another comfortably, Robb felt fear grip him suddenly. His eyes trailed over the side of the Wall and he turned to stare at Jon. The man felt his tenseness and looked at him curiously.

Robb asked, “If I asked you to jump, would you?”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows and gave a short, surprised laugh. He shook his head and said, “No, of course not. Why the fuck are you asking?”

Fear, anxiety, apprehension, wariness, every emotion under the sun gripped Robb, choking him, before he stood and looked down at Jon. “Jump off the Wall, Jon." 

Immediately, Jon stood, moving toward the edge. He looked back at Robb, his face a mask of terror, as his body seemingly moved of its own accord. Robb moved quickly, his heart in his throat, and grabbed Jon before he lept. He muttered quickly _don’t do that_ before Jon collapsed in his arms, his body shaking. He let Jon gasp desperately in his ear before moving them away from the edge and back beside a battlement, bringing them to the ground once more.

Once they sat, however, Jon shoved Robb away with inhuman force and scuttled backwards, staring wildly at the man before him. “What the fuck was that? What did you do to me?”

Fearful, a hand out in an aborted gesture of comfort that he knew was unwelcome, Robb said, “Jon… I am cursed.”

Jon froze and stared at him, a variety of emotions flying across his face then, starting with incredulity and ending with apprehension. They sat there, meters apart, staring at one another in silence as they realized what this meant for Robb. They seemed to sit there, apart and silent, for hours, the sun long gone by the time either of them moved toward one another again. 

Jon approached first. Quietly, he asked, “When did you first figure this out?”

Throat clicking from dryness as he swallowed, sitting back against the firepit with his head between his knees, Robb thought back and said, “Stannis. Melisandre would do as I asked because I am arisen from the dead. Stannis would not.”

He heard Jon give a great sigh then and looked up to see the man move closer to him. Shifting over, Robb gave him room to sit beside him and felt relieved when he did so. _I am a devil,_ Robb thought sadly to himself, _and yet here he sits._ He felt crushing guilt, suddenly, at using Jon the way he had to test his theory. Robb reached for Jon’s hand and felt ill at how comfortably the man took it and held it close.

“I’m sorry,” Robb whispered, tears pricking at his eyes. “I shouldn’t have used you that way.”

“You’re right, and I will never forgive you for it,” came Jon’s quick reply, his tone mean and bitter. Regardless, he moved closer still, and continued. “But you need me and I, you. I would never abandon you anyway, Robb, you must know that by now.”

He felt a few hot tears fall down his cheeks, surprising himself. He did not know he still had such capacity for it. Robb moved their hands closer to him and gently stroked Jon’s, eyeing the scars on it and feeling heavy sadness at the sight of them.

“I promise I will never do it again.” 

“You will,” Jon interrupted, giving a short, mirthless chuckle. “You don’t have a choice, I’m sure you don’t even know when you’re doing it. Promise to try instead.”

“I promise to try, then,” Robb said, his eyes moving to Jon’s. The two stayed like that, lost in the moment. The elevator moved then and they both stared as it made its descent. Jon mentioned how the night’s watchmen were presumably coming up for their shift and they prepared themselves to leave. 

As they moved to stand by the shaft, Jon grabbed Robb and they stopped. “Will you use it? As king?”

The question Robb had been privately avoiding. He bit his lip and turned to stare as the elevator made its slow ascent back to the top. They stood there quietly, Jon turning to face it as well, his eyes ever straying from Robb.

He knew the answer, he realized. Robb was angry, vengeful, and he was not above using it to get what he and his family deserved. But what were the consequences, he wondered? Was he meant to be an evil, controlling, all-powerful king? _Why did the gods curse me with this, if they did not deem me wicked?_ But perhaps it was a gift, instead? _But what kind of gift is it, to control people against their will?_ Robb never wanted to be a king. He was raised to be a lord at most, and he was taught by his father, who believed in the will and beliefs of the people above all else. _What will and beliefs did the people have under a king who could command them to do anything and everything?_ The elevator stopped before them and Robb noticed Jon move closer to him and avoid the eyes of the brothers moving past them. They all stared at the two, none of them hiding their fear and reverence as they moved to their posts.

Robb still hadn’t answered by the time the elevator reached the bottom once more. Jon still hadn’t pressed for an answer, either. Robb ignored Jon’s eyes on him as they silently moved toward Jon’s still-intact room.

“Your Grace.”

Robb came to a halt and blinked, awaking from his thoughtful daze. He and Jon turned to face the upper balcony where Stannis was making his descent with Davos at his side. Melisandre was nowhere to be found, but she often retired early, claiming necessary rituals needing her attention. After her work returning Jon from the dead and apparently restoring Robb’s voice, few seemed inclined to question it.

Raising his head and coming to private conclusions, Robb nodded at Stannis. The man came to a halt in front of the two of them, greeting Jon as “Lord Commander” despite Jon’s wishes otherwise. 

“There’s been a lot of distraction following your return. For good reason, of course,” he added, his eyes flickering to Jon. “But we should speak about what comes next.” 

“Tomorrow,” Robb answered, his gaze steady on Stannis as he observed the man’s reaction. As he suspected, the man’s eyes lost their focus for a moment before he verbally assented. Robb continued on and added, “We will meet in the Lord Commander’s quarters with only Davos and Karsi.” 

Once more, Stannis agreed, looking moments after like he surprised himself. The two stared at one another in silence before Robb bid him goodnight and the greying king nodded, bidding him the same. Stannis and Davos turned to head back where they came from, Davos’ confused mutterings allowing Robb to only catch “we agreed on tonight” and “our quarters” before they got too far to overhear.

Robb could feel Jon shifting beside him to look at him head-on, but he refused to look back. He moved instead toward Jon’s quarters, leaving the man behind him in the courtyard before he caught up as Robb was opening the door. They walked in together and Jon shut the door behind him, locking it. Robb methodically began to undress, waiting for Jon to speak.

Sighing, realizing Jon would not until Robb did, a childish move from when they were children, he sat on the bed and finally looked at him. Jon was standing with his cloak off, staring at Robb with an expression torn between frustration and disbelief. Robb clenched his jaw in momentary annoyance. 

“You have your answer.” _As do I._

“Aye, I do,” Jon bit out, moving to take off the rest of his clothes as well and change into sleepwear. Robb watched, his eyes raking over the man’s form, momentarily admiring him before staring helplessly at the seemingly still gaping wounds in his torso.

His hand moved without his permission, reaching outward, before he said, “Come here.”

As Jon immediately began to move, looking far more cross, Robb quickly barked out, “Don’t.” He held out a hand still, this time pushing Jon away, and the two stayed locked in a battle Robb hadn’t intended. Jon clenched his fists, breathing angrily through his nostrils as he stared at the man on the bed. Neither of them knew what to do.

Shutting his eyes, Robb breathed deeply and hoped his next words would work. Opening them and standing to move in front of Jon, he whispered, “Do not do as I say ever again. Make your own choices from now on, regardless what I command or ask of you.” 

Logically, Robb knew there was no way to actually see this final command take hold. While the relief on Jon’s face and the relaxation in his body made him believe it had, he was reluctant to prove or disprove it. Jon seemed to be as well, as he reached out suddenly and took Robb’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to Robb’s once more.

Tumbling backwards, Robb moved his hands to stroke down Jon’s back and sides, gently caressing the body under his as they laid back on the rickety bed. As Robb opened up his body to Jon once more, he felt himself flush as Jon whispered “thank you” to him. It sounded more like _I love you_ and he felt more human and alive than he had in ages.

As Jon began to sleep, finally, on Robb’s chest, their sweat long having cooled off and their heartbeats once again calm, he held the man close. Jon had whispered once more his fears of sleep, but Robb soothed him as best he could. He desperately avoided speaking too much, afraid of himself after his attempt at protecting Jon. As the room grew dark from the dying embers of the fire, Robb was reminded of a similar night weeks before. While Robb had concluded then that he was a demon, a monster, a sickness in this world, he knew now he was naïve. Now, seemingly equipped with the voice of the gods, there was truly no way to protect Jon, or anyone, from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'll be the first to admit i fucked up and i apologize for the delay. i should have just posted this ages ago bc to be honest this chapter was written along with chapter 6, the semester started tho and, well, between grad school and my two and a half jobs, she got a little busy (it's me, i'm she)
> 
> anyways. if you're all still here after thinking i abandoned you, thank u, i love u, i'm sorry i hurt u
> 
> yes it's corny as hell that everyone now just does as robb says and no i don't care bc I Love Corny


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